The Enemy Within
by whatshouldntbe
Summary: Six months into her captaincy, Jim Kirk experiences the hardships of being a twenty-something woman in command. girl!Kirk/Spock -Sequel-
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** The Enemy Within**  
><strong>**Universe/Series:** Part Two of '_What Shouldn't Be_' series, Reboot XI/TOS  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Relationship status:<strong> first time, slow build K/S  
><strong>Word count:<strong> N/A  
><strong>Plot:<strong> The demons of the past will always compromise the promise of the future.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> always!girl Kirk, angst, action, character death, language, rom-com humor, violence, possible amateur world-building  
><strong>Additional Pairings:<strong> Kirk/Gary Mitchell, Spock/Uhura, unrequited Kirk/Spock  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Six months into her captaincy, Jim Kirk experiences the hardships of being a twenty-something woman in command.

* * *

><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

Jim dreams of the sea.

She dreams that there is no sky, no ground, no sun and no moon. Just the sea. The sea is everywhere, and it swallows everything, even the light. It is illuminated and blue; that kind of blue you get when you take blue paint and mix it with white. It is the same kind of blue like her eyes. It is everywhere, and it swallows everything, even her. Jim is in the midst of this greedy blue sea. She's floating directly in it, moving and not moving, stuck in once place like a fruit fly captured by lime green jello.

Jim is naked, her golden hair swaying all around her, covering her breasts and her privates, like some sort of Greek painting or statue. When she moves, her body is caught in a web of slow motion. When she kicks out and swings her arms, her limbs move like honey would down the side of a wall. The sea is everywhere, and it remains motionless. There is no current to it, no back and forth, no to and fro, just dead stillness.

Then suddenly, a burning chunk of rock breaches the water from above her and continues it descent. More burning chunks follow, all different shapes and sizes, the only similarity laying in the color of them. The rocks hold a dusty red hue to them, like blood sand. With growing horror, Jim realizes that its pieces of Vulcan. These enflamed rocks are decimated pieces of the red planet. Jim struggles all the more, trying to break free, trying to kick up towards the surface. She tries to claw at the water all around her but her effort is wasted because the pressure of the water stunts the motion.

One by one, the enflamed chunks of rocks fall in, and Jim can only watch in horror. This goes on for a while, before it turns into a pattern. Big piece, little piece, big piece, medium piece, big piece, little piece—it makes Jim want to swallow her own tongue. After a moment, the pattern shifts, and its not just rocks of fire plunging in and floating down. It's bodies. Hundreds upon thousands of Vulcan bodies are plummeting alongside the rocks, lifeless and sinking.

It's only when she sees the bodies of children does she cry out. The sea rushes in to fill the space, slinking in around her tongue, pressing against the sharpness of her teeth, the inside of her cheeks, all the way until it reaches the back of her throat. She chokes on the familiar taste of the salty, greedy liquid, realizing for the first time that the sea she is stuck in, isn't a sea at all.

It's tears.

She's drowning in her own tears; sinking down with thousands of lifeless Vulcan bodies and burning pieces of their planet. Her eyes shutter to a close, and as she sinks further away from the light, the darkness beneath her opens it's arms to take her in. She falls into them willingly, thinking of how deserving she was of it.

Jim's eyes open with a gasp, widened by fear as she flails in her bed wildly, sending herself plummeting over the edge. "_Fuck!_" she hisses as her right shoulder makes cruel contact with the floor first before the rest of her body follows. She groans and twists away from the bed as she cups a hand over her sore shoulder. She bites her bottom lip and gathers herself to her feet, rotating the shoulder and sighing in relief when she feels no long lasting damage. She blinks and looks around her quarters, remembering that as of 1300 hours on Sunday, she is on the USS Enterprise as it's acting captain. "Computer. Time?"

"_Current time—0200—six hours until alpha shift._"

Jim frowns and rolls her sore shoulder once more. She felt wide-awake now and she doubted that she would be able to go back to sleep. Her natural energy wouldn't allow it. She sighs and runs a hand over her damp forehead and through her disheveled locks. Now seemed like a good time as ever to check out the ship's training center. She felt a desperate need to run until her lungs cried out with the need for oxygen.

Jim sighs and gathers up all her hair into a high ponytail and takes the elastic band from her left wrist to aid her in twisting and tucking her hair into messy bun. Then she goes in search for some decent workout clothes. She finds a red sports bra and a pair of her old yoga shorts. There the ones that Bones once claimed were too fucking tight and fit her like second skin. Jim snorts at the mere memory and slips out of one of his oversized t-shirts that she had managed to steal before they left earth. She puts the sports bra on first and adjusts its for her comfort (not that she had that much up top anyway), and slips into her yoga shorts, which she had to admit, did hug her body like a second skin. Jim cocks her head and looks down at her pelvis, where the tip of the medical division badge tattoo can be seen, peeking out just an inch above the edge of her shorts.

She smiles faintly at it, thinking of the scowl and blush Bones would be sporting if he saw her. She chuckles and goes on a hunt for some workout shoes, which are easily found not long after, thankfully. She steps right into them, grabs a towel on the way out, along with her PADD and exits her quarters. The ship is pretty silent at this time; most of the officers (who aren't on gamma shift) are tucked away in their own quarters, catching up on some sleep.

When Jim walks through the corridors of the ship (_her _ship), she takes it all in with a swell of pride. She didn't have time to really explore the previous day, too upset over the fact that Sulu (her first-pick helmsman) had been replaced, and by the same guy she'd run into at Taboo not too long ago: Gary. She later learns his last name is Mitchell, and that his being there is only temporary. It's just until Sulu is able to conclude his affairs on Earth. Sulu had been very closed-mouth about what those affairs were exactly, but he did promise to return to the Enterprise and assume his role as helmsmen. Jim had pouted (Bones had rolled his eyes at the sight, saying something about how spoiled Jim was), and yeah, she wanted to throw a tantrum like a big baby, but she kept it professional and merely nodded. That didn't stop her, however, from swearing that she would count down the days until his return, and that the wait would be painfully unfair.

Sulu had blushed and muttered something about having a ridiculous captain (but he seemed flattered otherwise), before he left the ship when Gary relieved him. Moments later, they left Earth. Jim is still upset over that fact, but she's making the best of it. Gary, so far, doesn't seem too bad, but only time will tell really. Jim shakes off those thoughts and goes back to admiring _her _ship, unable to keep the half-smile off her face. This expression garners curious looks from the officers that snap a respectful salute in her direction when they cross her path. Jim figures she must look pretty goofy: hair disarray, half-naked and grinning like a loon. She's just a bit surprised that she's so easily recognizable to her crew, and most parts grateful for it. She didn't need any awkward situations.

The ship hums all around her, singing to her with different clicks and pings that causes her grin to widen a fraction. By the time she makes it to the recreation deck and turns into the training facility, she's got a smile on her face that could rival the cat from Alice and Wonderland. The comfort of her ship, and the mere fact that it's _hers, _is enough to chase away the dark shadows of her dream.

She sets an alarm on her PADD and pulls up some music before she sets it aside and begins to do a set of stretches. When she's satisfied, she steps onto the treadmill. She inhales, and then exhales a command that sets the treadmill in motion, starting her off on a slow walk, to a leisure jog, and then she's running. She closes her eyes slowly and runs until the music coming from her PADD is overlapped by the sound of her quickening heartbeat.

Jim is pulling further into herself, seeing beyond the darkness she finds behind her own eyelids, and as she does this she gets this feeling deep in her gut. There is an urge there. An urge that swirls inside of her mind until it transforms into these little dancing sparks that she can actually see behind her eyelids. She frowns but keeps running, keeps her eyes closed and keeps watching these little sparks as they swirl to and fro, urging her to follow the movement with her eyes.

So she does.

The sparks twists and turns, like some kind of conscious life-form that, when is sure that it has Jim's attention, slithers up into her mind and blossoms into this little ball of white light. The white light pulsates like the sun before it stretches out into a beautiful thread of shimmering sparkles. Jim can vaguely hear herself gasp as she's pulled into it like a vortex and her body goes on autopilot and keeps itself running. She's sucked up into this thread while her heart thrums and writhes in her own chest until the swirling sparkles spit her out into another dwelling.

It's like an out-of-body experience for Jim, because she no longer feels shackled by her own flesh and skin, but loose and transparent, like a type of free-floating conscious. The other end of the shimmering thread (which she immediately recognizes as the same one she touched during the meld with Prime Spock) leads her to a pool of pearly white water. She moves forward and kneels before the pool. Her closeness to the pool allows her to feel the inviting warmth emanating from it. Then, there is a faint flicker around her, followed by the presence of another.

_Vi psthan nash-veh kae?_

Jim frowns without really knowing if she can frown in this state. She looks around but sees nothing that would explain the feeling of another presence. She searches and searches and sees nothing but the pearly-white pool stretching out before her like a sea towards a pale-blue veil. Jim suddenly wants to know what's on the other side of the veil. The pearly-white sea shifts and calls to Jim's very essence, and before she knows it, she reaching out to dip her hand into it.

**_Kroykah! _**_James, you must not._

Jim gasps and wrenches her hand back as she recognizes the voice.

**Sarek?**

_I am here._

**But—why?**

_I felt a troublesome disturbance in my son's mental shields, and took it upon myself to investigate. I see that my assumptions were correct, and you have bypassed the shields I have set in place to block you. It is strange that you have gotten so far. Psi-null beings are not usually so—dynamic._

**That sounds like a compliment.**

_Certainly not, James. Now—remove yourself from my son's mind—it is not proper for you to be here without his conscious approval._

**Um—this is awkward but—I don't know how to leave.**

Silence.

**Sarek?**

_I am thinking._

**Ah.**

Silence.

_I have thought on the matter greatly, and have come to an suitable conclusion. Concentrate deeply and reach for your mind. Once you have obtained an adequate grasp, you will need to pull until you are conscious of your own body._

**Right, got it. Swim until I'm home.**

_James, I caution you. You must be careful not to make any more contact with my son's mind than you already have. Spock can withstand the shock, but without his cognizant guidance, you will be at great risk. I urge you to address this matter with my son immediately. Though I advise we have our own discussion before you do so. Promptly._

**Yes sir—uh—Sarek.**

_Until then. Peace and long life, James. _

Jim concentrates like Sarek suggested and when she feels even a faint amount of her own mind, she makes a grab for it, staying mindful of her surroundings as she does so. She's pulling and pulling, until it feels like she climbing up a rope. She climbs right back into the vortex of shimmering sparkles, and in she goes until she's back on the other side again. When she's back in her own body, she's drenched in her own sweat and her lungs and legs feel sore with the strain of having ran for so long. Not to mention the mental exhaustion she now feels.

Her eyes flutter open and she gasps out a command for the treadmill to cease its motion. When it stops, she falls to her knees and sucks in as much air as she can get, feeling dazed and confused, and all sorts of restless. It dawns upon her, as she gathers herself off the floor and reaches for her towel, that being in Spock's mind had felt like she was drawing closer to eternal peace. Now back in her own body and mind, she shivers, feeling a cold chill of loneliness and want dance around in her soul.

She wants to feel Spock's warmth.

Jim groans at the revelation and swipes her PADD from off the floor, striding out the training room and to Bones's quarters.

She needs to fucking talk about these fucking disastrous feelings before she makes a fucking idiot of herself to either Spock or Sarek.

Sarek. Jim groans again. He had seemed to lose his patience in light of Jim's stunt. Now she would have to talk to him ASAP.

How troublesome.

Jim marches through the corridor with a purpose and prays that Bones has a good stash of bourbon on him.

Emotions fucking sucked. No wonder Vulcans wanted nothing to do with them.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> _I just suck at beginnings. Well, I needed to write something soon or I would lose the motivation to write at all. Help me out here guys, tell me what you think of it so far. Please comment._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

Jim doesn't make it to Bones's quarters.

She has no one to blame but herself. She's taken the long way. She has this ongoing urge to see every angle and side of the Enterprise (her ship, her girl, _hers_). The temptation of it is too strong and leads her two decks below in the ship and then back up again, until the corridors are winding all around her like a blanket, like a robe, like a glorious metal sheath. She sighs wistfully, sliding her fingertips against the walls reflexively. She has to blink and think past the mental blueprints she's beginning to build in her mind, just so she can remember where she was headed to in the first place. She redirects her feet and heads for her best friend's quarters in a second attempt. Just as she rounds the corner, her body slams into a running Scotty, sending them both flying to the ground.

"_Fuck!_" Jim groans as she blinks up at the ceiling. "Scotty?" She squints her eyes at him. "What's the rush exactly?"

Scotty sits up slowly and rubs his jaw. His brown eyes are red and unfocused from the lack of sleep. His red hair is untidily sticking up in all directions and his cheeks (as well as his uniform) are smudged with something that closely resembles motor oil. He looks down at Jim and blinks a few times before he shouts, "Captain! Speak of the Devil! Not that you're the Devil, mind you, but I was just coming your way."

Jim frowns and climbs to her feet as Scotty echoes the motion. She feels even more sore than she was before. She's not looking forward to having to sit down all eight hours of her upcoming shift, God, not with these bone-deep aches. "Found me sooner than expected?" She rubs her lower back and silently prays she can sweet-talk Bones into giving her one of his miracle remedies he so selfishly loves to withhold. "What's going on?"

Scotty's eyes widen with his excitement. "A lot of goings and happenings, I'm afraid, Captain," he replies. "You'd better come see. I need a second pair of eyes!" Scotty gets a gentle grip on her elbow and tugs her along.

Jim squints her eyes against the salty sting of her own sweat as it slides into the crease of her eyelids and down into her corneas. She winces and uses her towel to wipe her face clean. She felt uncomfortably grimy. She wonders if Scotty will excuse her long enough to go and take a shower. But the engineer looks determined as he marches through the corridors with her in tow, and Jim falls prey so easily to her own curiosity.

They don't end up at the engineering bay like Jim half-expected. They end up at the transporter room instead.

Jim blinks and stops right in the doorway. "Er…Scotty? Is that Admiral Archer's prized beagle?"

Scotty kneels at the transporter pad so he's eye level with the canine. "Aye," he confirms. "It seems to have aged quite a bit." He eyes the little old dog as if he's trying to unravel some great mystery.

Jim rubs the back of her neck as she studies the dog. "I'm going to have to assume that you and I have different translations on what '_aged_' means—because I have to tell you—I really think it's going to keel over and die."

And it does (suspiciously so). It's a stumpy looking little thing. It's like a brown baby pig wearing a dog's costume for Halloween—and were those liver spots? Are dogs supposed to even have those? Jim's never had one, so she has no idea. It'd probably be humorous if it weren't so sad. The frail thing just couldn't keep its tongue in its mouth, and it's whole body shook with each rough pant. Were funerals allowed for animals? Jim made a mental note to go through Starfleet regulations about the proper procedures. Better yet, why not ask Spock? He was a walking Starfleet handbook.

Jim snorts and totally makes a mental note to ask the uptight Vulcan. "Is it supposed to be breathing so hard?" she asks as she steps closer.

Scotty shrugs. He reaches out to pet the dog but the beagle snaps his jaws at him. Scotty wrenches his hand back with a frown. "Peculiar tyke isn't he?"

"Could be," Jim grins. "Or he remembers you _very_ well."

"That he might," Scotty straightens and stands. "He's not the problem," he points to the second object. "Picked it up while I was doing a bit of fine-tuning." He steps onto the transporter pad and around the object. "Captain," he murmurs, suddenly looking very grave. "I think it's a ship's recorder-marker."

Jim slides her eyes to the left and studies it with a frown. It looks rather like a twentieth-century miniature satellite that's pummeled it's way across the galaxy. She kneels before it and observes it more closely. "It looks old. _Really _old. I mean—what are the chances—" she quiets and fingers her lips thoughtfully.

Scotty crouches down beside her. "It's severed," he swipes his fingers across the legs. "But they're built to withstand heavy damage." He stands and goes around to the other side of it. "It's been adrift for a while, that much I can tell. I do wonder though, whether it was ejected manually or—not."

Jim considers his words carefully, fully understanding his meaning. "You said you picked it up?"

"Aye. Locked on its signal when I was trying to pinpoint and isolate the precise coordinates for the wee tyke over there," Scotty nods his head towards the dog. "I figured it'd help me understand where he'd been all this time if I took a second look, but instead I found myself noticing that there was something drifting near us—within a tractor beam's range, mind you—and well, it was only a meter across, so I thought—too small to be a spacecraft—and I beamed it aboard."

Jim stays thoughtfully silent, mulling a few options over in her head. She reaches through her mind quickly for any kind of useful information as she stands and sighs, putting her hands on her hips. "Here's what we'll do," she begins, coming to a decision.

Scotty's head stays low but his eyes pop up in her direction.

"I'll give you time to tinker with it, and see what you can find out about where it came from, how long it's been adrift, things of that nature. See if the computer tapes can be loaded to interface. Hopefully they'll still be decipherable, and if they are, we'll let Lieutenant Uhura oversee those transmissions and see what she makes of it."

Scotty nods. "Aye, Captain. I'll do what I can."

"I don't doubt it," Jim says. "Just—whatever you do find—have it forwarded to my PADD, and then we'll go from there." She glances at the dog. "Are you okay with him for company, or should I take him off your hands?"

Scotty snorts. "He's no worse than Keenser, I'm sure I'll do just fine with him here. As long as he's quiet, that is." Scotty narrows his eyes at the dog, whom growls lowly back at him. The dog then turns his head and straightens up into a sitting position, looking as dignified as a king on its throne.

Jim smiles at the display and jokingly salutes the both of them before making a hasty exit.

888

Bones is not thrilled when Jim interrupts his sleep.

How does Jim know?

He stands right in his doorway, shirtless, wearing nothing but the smiley-face pajama bottoms Jim bought him for his birthday (Jim mentally cheers and pats herself on the back for a gift well-given and used). Arms crossed, eyes narrowed and feet firmly planted, he makes no move to let Jim into his quarters. Jim thinks he looks adorably rumpled (and of course he would be, he must have literally rolled out of bed to answer his door) but besides that, he looks like he's absolutely serious about turning Jim away to get some well-deserved sleep.

"This is important," Jim makes her case.

Bones scowls and does not budge.

"It's about my _feelings_," she drawls. "You _adore_ that mushy-feely-crap."

Bones is not easily moved.

All right, so maybe that isn't the most flattering thing to say. Time for a different angle. "Remember that you love me most of all," Jim pouts.

Bones is not easily impressed.

Well fuck. Jim is running out of ideas. "Bones, come _on_," she whines, tugging at his sleeve.

Bones's eyes say, _Hell no, now go away you insufferable pain in the ass and let me get some goddamn sleep!_

Jim sighs and stomps her foot. Time for Plan B.

Jim widens her blue eyes innocently, pressing her palms together like a silent prayer and pouts. "I love you, Bones. I'm dedicated to you. Look down—you see the tattoo, it's evidence—I am devoted."

Bones's eyebrow twitches but he still doesn't budge.

Jim keeps her angelic pose, widening her eyes even more and making her bottom lip tremble. "_Booooones! Why don't you love me? Looooooove meeeeee!_"

Bones sighs and drops his defensive stance. "Damn you."

Jim fists pumps in triumph and then proceeds to giggle evilly. Feeling overjoyed with this victory, she throws her arms (and her entire body) around him, causing him to stumble and grunt when he has to adjust their weight so they don't topple over to the ground. Jim doesn't care, she stays latched to him. And Bones fidgets for appearance sake but she totally knows that he loves her physical affection. Otherwise he would have punched her in the face by now, right?

"Alright Kid, let me breathe." Bones gently eases her grip and turns into his room.

Jim shuffles inside with him as the door slides close behind them. "Just so you know, I could have used my override code, but I'm such a good friend that I respected your _boundaries,_ Bones."

"Oh, so you know what boundaries are, do ya?" Bones asks sarcastically.

It doesn't even faze Jim. She puts her hands on her hips and puffs out her chest with pride. "Uh-huh. And you know what else? I am becoming responsible-like. And you know what else-else? I deserve a cookie. Ten cookies. Ten delicious cookies. Ten delicious chocolate chip cookies. Ten huge delicious, as big as my face, chocolate chip cookies."

"Well you ain't gone get 'em from me, Kid, so don't bother askin' me for it," Bones slurs, voice riddled with a lazy southern drawl.

Jim thinks about how much she enjoys hearing it like this, all raw and natural. Most times—in polite society—he stifles the accent. Not quite in the way of shame or embarrassment, but something else, something that Jim has yet to figure out. She ponders this as she watches him flop backwards onto his disheveled bed.

Bones closes his eyes as he folds his hands over his stomach. He looks like he's reflecting about the cosmos and the universe and eternal peace. "What did you want?" he mumbles.

Jim leans against the wall as she surveys him. "I think I really did it this time, Bones," she says.

Bones frowns but his eyes remain closed. "Done what?"

Jim launches in a quick explanation about accidentally entering Spock's mind and her conversation with Sarek. She doesn't mention the dream, that's a little too personal. And while she may love Bones like a brother, the dreams—the nightmares—aren't really something she's ready to share with anyone.

Bones doesn't say anything.

Jim sighs. "What do you think?"

No response.

"I hope that silence means you're thinking very hard about a reasonable solution to my dilemma."

Silence.

Jim eyes him carefully. He has not moved or spoken. "How's that life as a mute going?"

Silence.

"Bones. Are you sleep? You suck if you're sleep," Jim says.

Bones finally opens his eyes, but they're cloudy with exhaustion. "What do you want me to say, Kid? This is a conversation you should be havin' with that green-blooded hobgoblin." Bones pauses to yawn. "Though, if you're really desperate, you could ask Dr. Dehner, she might know a thing or two. Reckon she's well-versed when it comes to these—psychological—_situations._ Not much advice that I can give to ya, don't know a lot about Vulcan bonds. Those pointy-eared bastards make sure of that. They stay tight-lipped 'bout anythin' to do with their biology."

Jim crosses her arms and frowns. "Sounds like you're trying to send me to a psychiatrist, no thanks. Besides, I don't really feel comfortable talking about this with anyone else," she admits. "I don't need this getting out. Can you imagine how furious Spock would be if heard about it, second-handedly?"

Bones snorts. "Vulcans don't experience fury," he drawls sarcastically.

Jim rolls her eyes and lifts her hand to touch her cheek. Her fingertips slide against the waxy softness of her skin as the image of dark eyes, burning with hatred and fury, flashes through her mind. She says, "I had a bruise not too long ago that would really like to beg to differ."

Bones scowls. "Don't remind me," and he sounds quite serious about that.

Jim shrugs faintly. She doesn't push the subject, knowing that if she does, Bones will have no qualms about throwing her out. At which point she'd be forced to use her override code, because Jim doesn't know how to leave well enough alone.

"If you don't want to talk to anyone else, than maybe it's good you talk to Sarek. Hell, he'd probably give you the exact answers you need," Bones points out. "Now does that satisfy you or do you want to continue to deprive me of my sleep?"

"You need a woman to deprive you of your sleep, Bones. Circle of life and all that." Jim dutifully ducks out of the way of the pillow thrown. "That's not very nice," she says, then clucks her tongue disapprovingly with a waggle of her index finger.

Bones just rolls over onto his stomach and covers his head with a pillow. "Kid, go away and go to bed."

Jim studies her nails nonchalantly. "Can't. Not tired."

"You need sleep."

"Sex with friends usually helps. Hint-ta-tee, hint, hint."

"Go find Spock."

"And have Uhura butcher me and wear my entrails like an overcoat? No thanks. Besides, Spock and I aren't friends."

"I'm sure you're real upset over it."

"Laugh it up, Bones, but your day will come, oh how it will come. And I'll be right there, standing in the corner like some triumphant stalkerish creep."

"Go to _bed_."

"I'll sleep after my shift," Jim says. "Maybe."

Jim can't see it but she knows he's scowling.

"Can I use your bathroom?" she asks.

Bones waves his hand carelessly.

"Thanks."

Jim shuffles into his bathroom and is all too happy with removing her clothes and utilizing the sonic shower. After fifteen minutes in there, she steps out feeling fresh and clean and almost weightless. She exits the bathroom (as naked as the day she was born) to see that Bones has not moved at all. She shrugs and steals a shirt and some boxers before she crawls into bed beside him. Bones grumbles but he scoots over and makes room for her. Jim puts her hands behind her head and stares up at the ceiling, letting her thoughts run free. She has two hours before she has to leave to return to her own quarters and get ready for her shift.

"I can hear you thinkin' Jimmy," Bones mutters from under his pillow.

"That's not something I can help," Jim whispers back. "Is it bothering you?"

Bones emerges from under his pillow and stares down at her. "Didn't say that," he replies as he studies her face carefully.

Jim grins. "Your hair is a mess right now, you know that right?"

Bones rolls his eyes and lets his head fall down to his pillow. "Don't care." He yawns and blinks tiredly at her. "Got no one 'm tryin' to impress."

"Well that just makes me feel special." Jim tilts her head in his direction. "Next you'll be saying I'm not welcome here."

Bones frowns. "Don't be stupid. You're always welcome. Just preferably _before _I've fallen into some of the best sleep I've had in a long while."

Jim feels her mouth shrug.

Bones is studying her face silently still. "You know I've always wondered," he says. "I've known you for three years, and not once have I seen you with your hair down."

Jim eyes his ceiling again.

"Why don't you ever wear your hair down?" Bones asks. "Isn't that somethin' females like to do?"

Jim furrows her eyebrows. "Go to sleep Bones, you're rambling."

"You should sleep too." Bones yawns and doesn't even catch on to the fact that Jim changed the subject. It's a testament to how tired he truly is.

Jim snorts. "I already said I would, right after my shift."

Bones's eyelids lower slowly. "Well make sure to eat somethin' before you do," he mumbles.

He's out like a light and snoring softly.

Jim continues to stare up at the ceiling, doing her best to erase Bones's question from her mind.

The answer, when it concerns her past, is never pretty.

888

Jim is still wide-eyed and awake by the time her shift hits. She leaves Bones to his sleep so she can slip away to her own quarters. It doesn't take her long to reach them (she's got a few shortcuts memorized). Once she's inside, she outfits herself with black underwear and pulls up sheer black tights that stop mid-waist. She steps into a pair of black boots that stop right in the middle of her calves. Then, saving the best for last, she slips on her long-sleeved gold dress uniform and smoothed her hands along her sides, straightening her three-banded cuffs with a smile.

Jim goes to the bathroom and takes a few minutes to eye herself with a grin. Sure the uniform almost fits like a second skin, almost, but her heart swells with genuine pride. She parts her hair at the side, braids the left side of the part before clipping it off right behind her ear and then brushes the rest of her hair into a low ponytail. She uses a bit of coconut oil to tame a few flyaway strands, and then she decides to twist the end of her ponytail into a neat bun before nodding in satisfaction. When she puts her brush down on the sink, she takes a moment to lift her hand and gently slide her fingers over the command emblem resting above her left breast.

"Did you ever think you'd be here?" Jim asks herself as she stares at her reflection. She glances down and swipes her chapstick from her makeup bag and runs it over her lips a few times. She snaps the top back on as she rubs her lips together with an audible smack. She sighs and stares at her reflection again. "Did you ever think you'd be a captain?" She smiles. "You're a captain. _The _captain of one of the finest ships ever made by far: The USS Enterprise. And she's yours." Jim sighs quietly. "All yours," she repeats softly. "Don't fuck it up, Jim."

Jim puts her hands on her hips and with the next exhale, she turns and exits her quarters. As she walks through the corridors to the nearest turbolift, she feels a swell of excitement and anticipation twist around her stomach. The anxiousness to get to her bridge quickens her footsteps as she throws a few grins and nods to all the passing officers that snap a quick salute. The turbolift is in sight now, and wouldn't you know it? Spock and Mitchell are already there.

"Hey, hold that for me!" Jim says as quickens her stride.

Both Spock and Mitchell reach out. They both lift a hand and place it in the doorway to stall it's closing. This is done with perfect synchronization, which causes them to glance at each other wordlessly.

Jim slows her pace a bit as she steps on and eyes them both, picking up the tension between them immediately. She's a bit curious as to why that is. "Thanks," she says and stands between them as the door swishes close.

They both nod once.

"Captain," Spock greets formally, keeping his gaze forward with his hands clasped behind his back. He looks as prim and neat as always.

Jim can't help but to notice how well his science uniform fit him. He wears the blue and black very well. Too well even. Her eyes fall to his feet and then lift slowly until she reaches the top of his head. Her gaze drops to the tipped point of his ear and she notices how pale it seems in comparison with the midnight black of his bowl-cut hair. She wonders briefly if he cuts his own hair, which in turn caused a humorous mental image of him standing in his bathroom with a ceramic bowl on his head, wielding a pair of safety scissors meant for small children. She laughs without meaning to, because somehow, that sounds like the most adorable thing in the world to witness.

Spock glances at her curiously and lifts an eyebrow.

Jim forces her gaze elsewhere, mentally applauding herself for not blushing, and fidgets while she clears her throat. It takes a second for her to realize that she hasn't greeted Spock back. "Good morning, Commander," she says and winces at how her voice fluctuates with her own nervousness. God what the fuck did she have to be nervous about? Maybe a visit with Dr. Dehner wouldn't be so horrible. Her head did need to be looked at.

Jim looks at Mitchell briefly. "Mr. Mitchell," she greets begrudgingly.

Mitchell grins with something akin to amusement but he nods wordlessly in acknowledgment.

That irks Jim. She's glad when the door whooshes open to the bridge. She quickly exits, and tries not to make it obvious that she's fleeing.

Jim goes station to station, getting a formal report. She spends a little extra time hovering over Uhura's shoulder and taking great pleasure at watching her communications officer bite her tongue from saying anything even remotely disrespectful to her commanding officer. Uhura still glares though, eyes begging Jim to just fuck off and leave her be. Jim just grins, and this grin eerily echoes the Cheshire cat from Alice and Wonderland. She leaves Uhura after a while, feeling that her communications officer had, had enough, and moves on to the next station, wanting, in part, to get to know half of the unfamiliar faces on her bridge. She's pleased to learn that everything is as it should be, even though they've gotten no word yet from Starfleet about any impending missions.

It's not that Jim is anxious to prove herself (it absolutely is that), but she's never been one to just sit around. If there is something to do, Jim wants to do it. She's totally aware that being captain doesn't mean spending everyday coming to some poor planet's defense against a misfit crew of rebellious aliens. Still, a girl could dream about slinging her phaser back and forth like she was born to wield it. And dream she did as she sat in her chair and signed every form that Yeomen Smith shoved under her nose.

Seriously, her hand is cramping, and did she need to sign for all this? Is it really necessary to sign off on carrots? Jim trusts that the ship's chefs knew what they were doing.

Yup. Not the most exciting shift by far.

"Captain please, just a few more," Yeomen Smith says when she notices the glazed look in Jim's eyes.

Jim blinks and smiles apologetically. "Sorry."

Yeomen Smith nods stiffly. She doesn't look too happy. When Jim signs the last form, she leaves without sparing Jim another glance.

Jim considers how badly that went and wonders how quickly she can get her Yeomen to warm up to her. Maybe she should sign with a wide smile on her face next time. Or maybe she should actually listen to her Yeomen like her life depended on it when each form was being explained. Jim contemplates it seriously, and just hopes Smith is nothing like Uhura, because if that's the case, then the kissing up is a hopeless endeavor.

Jim sighs and sits back in her chair as she looks out the view screen at the stars passing them like streaks of light while they maintain warp with no exact direction. She crosses her left leg over her right and glances at Chekov. She takes a moment to eye his red curls, the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, the boyish curves of his features and the confident way he moved his small hands over his console. She thinks about how young he is (barely three years her junior) and tries to figure him out. He could be anywhere else right now, but instead, he was braving the unknown in the black expanse of space. It is a curious thing.

What had led him to Starfleet? When was the moment he knew he belonged in space? Jim tries to imagine Chekov as a little boy, and when she does, she gets this image of him sprawled out on his bedroom floor, lying on his stomach, head propped by his hands as his eyes jumped from physics book to intergalactic maps to advance astronomy. Even by the strength of her own imagination, this seemed completely possible. And somehow in the middle of contemplating these mysteries, she winds up wondering if she can pry a little information from the young Ensign on the status of Sulu. She's got a keen hunch he might know.

Jim looks down at her lap where her PADD rests, and because she has nothing better to do, she begins going through her message history. She spends fifteen minutes sorting through the fan letters (she marks that down as spam right away, because, just, no) and is able to find all the forwarded letters from her brother and sisters, sent by Winona. She smiles and puts a gold notification star beside them and sorts them into their own special designated folder. She will read them later in the privacy of her quarters, where she knows that it'll be perfectly acceptable to get as emotional as she wants.

Jim continues on until everything is properly filed and sorted. She's never been much of a neat freak, or a slob. She's got a good balance between the two, but sorting and organizing only becomes a necessity when she's bored and has nothing else to do. She then opens up blank message template, inspiration hitting her like lightening.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**LIEUTENANT HIKARU S SULU OF JAPAN, EARTH**

_Sulu,_

_Is it okay with you that I'm still pissed that you left me? Why can't you tell me what this mysterious business is that's keeping you from leaving that ole Terra Firma? _

_Do I really need to remind you that I saved your life? Cause I totally saved your life, you might, I don't know, recall that? We're practically family now. That means your business is my business! _

_Seriously though, you didn't stay because your cat died did you? Please don't tell me your one of those crazed-animal lovers. And if that was the case, you could have done your grieving on ship. If it was your cat, than I sincerely hope that cat was a master of some extraordinary talent that brought you such endless joy that you could never find elsewhere. Cause I will beat the ever-living crap out of your fancy fencing ass if that cat was just one of those regular cats._

_You know you might as well tell me what's going on. There's always Chekov if you don't. And I have to tell you, he looks like a total pushover. I sincerely hope you haven't shared your deepest darkest secrets with that kid._

_Cause if you have…_

_Well just imagine that I'm snickering evilly and twiddling my imaginary handlebar mustache._

_How long before you're back in my clutches again?_

_This Ship Flies Like Shit Without You,_

_Captain Awesome_

Jim smiles and sends it as top priority, knowing that it will get to Earth faster if she does. She then proceeds to pull up another blank message template, having enjoyed writing the last one, she figures, why not keep going?

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

** CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE **

**ENSIGN PAVEL A CHEKOV OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Chekov,_

_I know you know that I know that you know what's going on with Sulu._

_Now be a good Ensign and share with your Captain. You will be rewarded in cookies._

_I'm going to be nice._

_I Have Ways Of Making You Talk,_

_JTK_

Jim snickers a little evilly as she forwards the message. She hears the predictable soft ping and watches as Chekov opens and reads the message. He frowns thoughtfully and glances at Jim from over his shoulder.

Jim hurriedly schools her features to look severely grave. It obviously works because Chekov gulps and turns away, hunching over his station to scribble out his response. Jim smiles and laughs gleefully on the inside at the flawless victory.

Her PADD pings and she quickly opens the message.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**ENSIGN PAVEL A CHEKOV VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

** CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Captain,_

_Please do not hurt me. I do not take the pain well._

_I do not think it would be wise if I tell you whole story. It is sad one._

_He is on Earth for family. This is all I can say. I made promise not to be saying anything else._

_This satisfies your curiosity for now, and I still get cookies, yes? _

_I Like The Peanut Butter Chocolate,_

_Pasha_

Pasha? How cute.

Jim mentally files the nickname away with a disappointed frown.

So much for flawlessly victory.

Jim sighs and glances at Chekov briefly before her gaze is drawn to Mitchell. Unlike Chekov, his posture is perfectly neat and his hands move about his station effortlessly. He doesn't seem concerned with what's going on around him. It kind of seems like he's in his own little world.

Jim narrows her eyes at the back of his head and opens up a new blank message template.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**LT COMMANDER GARY MITCHELL OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Mitchell,_

_You don't deserve to sit in that chair. You know that right?_

_Cant Be Convinced Otherwise,_

_Your Boss_

Jim sends it without another thought. Was it mean? Yeah, possibly, but Mitchell made it fair game when he invited himself on her ship. Her playground, her rules. She's so invested in this thought that she almost jumps when her PADD pings with Mitchell's quick response.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**LT COMMANDER GARY MITCHELL VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Dear My Boss,_

_Hm, I thought I felt you judging me, but I wasn't sure._

_I'm sorry you feel that way. How do you suggest we correct this problem?_

_Open To Any And All Suggestions,_

_Gary_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**LT COMMANDER GARY MITCHELL OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Mitchell,_

_I have a few ideas. One is where my original helmsman relieves you and we drop you off on some random planet, and you sob and cry, princess-style, as me and my gorgeous ship warp off into the sunset._

_That's The Best Kind of Happy Ending,_

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**LT COMMANDER GARY MITCHELL VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Kirk,_

_Interesting._

_Here's another idea. You and I could have dinner, say, 1900 hours? _

_I'm sure if you got to know me, you'd feel differently. _

_Give A Guy A Chance,_

_Gary_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**LT COMMANDER GARY MITCHELL OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Mitchell,_

_No. _

_Just, no._

_You Did Not Seriously Ask Me That,_

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**LT COMMANDER GARY MITCHELL VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Kirk,_

_And here I thought that I'd made quite the impression a couple of weeks ago._

_Taboo ring any bells?_

_Your Poorly Treated Knight in Shining Armor,_

_Gary_

Jim deletes the thread of messages and doesn't respond back. The fact of the matter is that she does remember, and quite vividly. She'd been a bit intoxicated that night, so of course she would act impressed. The guy could have been making balloon animals and she would have been panting all over him like some two-dollar whore. Alcohol lowered her inhibitions like crazy and she usually tended to act like some sort of sex-fiend. None of that matters now because she is very sober and very not interested. She is also very aware that she's got more important things to worry over, and they both started with S and ended with K.

It doesn't matter if the bastard is absolutely easy on the eyes. The alcohol that night did not lie concerning that bit. Her answer still stands as no.

Jim redirects her thoughts away from him to Scotty, mildly wondering how her Chief Engineer was fairing with the recorder-marker. She's heard no word from him so far, and she figures he must be working diligently and passionately to get some answers. It's that or Archer's beagle has eaten him. It's a laughable thought. The dog could have very well been the one to have died, and Scotty could be panicking over it.

Jim suddenly remembers something, and opens a new blank message template as inspiration strikes her again.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**COMMANDER S'CHN T'GAI SPOCK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Spock,_

_What's the protocol for deceased animals aboard a Starfleet vessel? Would a dog be allowed a funeral?_

_Kirk_

It only takes about a few minutes before he responds. Jim is sure that he was probably considering if she was asking a serious question or not.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**COMMANDER S'CHN T'GAI SPOCK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Captain,_

_I do not recall any regulation concerning the passing of a domesticated animal aboard a vessel. _

_Spock_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**COMMANDER S'CHN T'GAI SPOCK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Spock,_

_Is that a pretty way of saying that you don't know?_

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**COMMANDER S'CHN T'GAI SPOCK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Captain,_

_It is illogical to categorize words based solely on their appearance. Whether a statement is aesthetically pleasing to the listener bears no relevancy to the subject at hand. _

_Spock_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**COMMANDER S'CHN T'GAI SPOCK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Spock,_

_Words can be pretty. I have a collection of poetry that's begging to prove you wrong._

_Kirk_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**COMMANDER S'CHN T'GAI SPOCK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Captain,_

_I do not believe it conceivable for a poetry collection to debate the opinion of its contents._

_Spock_

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**COMMANDER S'CHN T'GAI SPOCK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Spock,_

_Maybe not._

_Look, all I wanted to know was if, in the case of a pet dying, we were allowed to give that pet a proper funeral. _

_Animals are people too, you know._

_Kirk_

Jim turns her chair slightly towards Spock and watches as his eyebrows furrow thoughtfully while he stays hunched over his station studying his PADD. No doubt reading her response and deeming it highly illogical. Jim tries to feel around for him to get a sense of what he's feeling, but she can't sense anything. She sighs when she realizes that Sarek has strengthened the walls between them again.

Speaking of.

Jim realizes that she'll be pretty free for the rest of her day after her shift. She might as well get this talk with Sarek over with and stop dilly-dallying. She opens a new blank message template.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**AMBASSADOR S'CHN T'GAI SAREK OF CALIFORNIA, EARTH**

_Sarek,_

_The Enterprise is still set to Earth's time, so there's no worry that we'll miss each other. If it works well for you, I am available to talk this afternoon._

_JTK_

Jim sends it as priority. Then opens the response from Spock.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**COMMANDER S'CHN T'GAI SPOCK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Captain,_

_I am aware that there are indicating factors that suggest humans and primates share a common ancestry, aside from this, I do not see the connection or relevancy in your statement._

_May I suggest discussing your inquiry with Dr. Dehner? She is more suitable in administering the necessary emotional treatment for such matters._

_Spock_

Jim rolls her eyes and shakes her head. She decides not press the issue. She just sits back and drums her fingers against the armrest.

Only four more hours until her shift ends.

888

Jim doesn't even bother going to the Mess. She has nothing but sleep on her mind. To keep from feeling guilty when Bones interrogates her (because she just knows its coming, she's got a gut feeling about this, a premonition of sorts), she puts her replicator to some use and makes herself a whole fruit basket. She doesn't eat anything but an apple, but that would suffice for the moment. She chucks the apple core in the garbage bin by her desk and curls up on her couch. She's too tired to change out of her uniform, so she just kicks off her boots and wiggles out of her tights. She knows that if she climbs into bed, there would be a chance that she wouldn't wake up until her next shift, and Jim didn't want to lose a whole afternoon to her own exhaustion.

So she takes a quick nap on her couch, and just to be on the safe side, she orders the computer to wake her up in two hours. When she sleeps she dreams of the sea again.

The sea is everywhere, swallowing everything. The water is blue, like the sky, like the color of her eyes. The sea is so blue that it almost seems to glow. Jim is floating in the midst of the greedy blue liquid; naked as the day she was born. Unlike the other times, the sea rolls and rocks into a frenzy. She is being swept to and fro by spontaneous currents and waves.

Then suddenly, the sea goes silent and still as it turns into a muted gray. Jim is swallowed in a sea of pale silver. Without warning, one by one, lifeless Vulcan bodies began to plunge. They are all black like shadows, having no true form, but there is no mistaking that pointed tip of their ears. They fall into the water and sink like stones. One turns into ten and then ten becomes fifty and fifty turns into hundreds until thousands upon thousands of Vulcans are falling into the water like humanoid rain. She finds herself thrashing against the horrible sight.

Jim sobs and struggles, but there is no relief. The sea is full with lifeless Vulcans, so much to the point until there is no sea. The bodies consume the sea itself, and pile high, pressing in against her and surrounding her on every side and at every angle. She's drowning in these lifeless Vulcan bodies, and there is no crueler thing than to suffer the feeling of accountability for all these souls lost.

Souls she did not and would not ever be able to save.

Jim falls into consciousness with an agonized cry in very much the same way a newborn baby slides free from the womb of it's mother. She sits up on her knees and presses her forehead against the couch cushion and weeps. She wraps her arms around herself and curls her body in tight until her damp forehead touches her knees. The wheezing, the coughing and the weeping lasts for about a good half an hour before she hiccups to a stop. She turns and sits correctly on the couch and sniffs softly. She hiccups a little and swallows to offer some relief to her sore throat.

Her heart fucking aches; it's absolutely unbearable.

The door chime sounds.

"Fuck!" Jim hisses and slams her fist down against the armrest. She quickly scrubs her face dry, even though it's hopeless. She knows she'll look exactly like what she's been doing, which is sobbing like a weak little baby. She smoothed her hands over her uniform (ignoring the fact that she's barefoot and her hair is a mess). She takes the elastic band off her wrist to pull her hair back into a ponytail before she presses the button that makes the door slide open.

It's Uhura.

"Nyota," Jim greets with a weak smile. "To what do I owe this tremendous pleasure?"

Uhura studies her wordlessly for a moment before she straightens her shoulders and says, "Captain, I came to discuss the matter of the-" she stops and looks around. Lowering her voice, she continues, "The matter of the recorder-marker."

"Oh," Jim says simply as she sniffs. "Has Mr. Scott briefed you?"

Uhura nods. "He said that he wanted to wait until you spoke with me about it, but when he tried to message you, he wasn't receiving any response back."

Jim fidgets slightly. She glances anywhere but Uhura. "I uh-" _Was crying like a baby over this recurring dream that's haunting me. _"I probably slept right through those notifications."

Uhura says nothing, but Jim can feel her searching gaze.

Oh boy, time to shift the attention elsewhere. "So he must have found something interesting that couldn't wait if he went ahead and briefed you already." Jim steps aside to allow Uhura to enter.

Uhura sweeps past, assessing her room briefly before she makes a beeline for Jim's PADD resting on the floor beside the couch.

Jim rolls her eyes and blows her bangs out of them. "By all means," she mutters.

Uhura doesn't even spare her a glance as she says, "I'm only making sure that you received all of Scotty's notifications. You should really read them."

Jim walks over and holds out her palm as Uhura hands the PADD over. She takes a few minutes to skim Scotty's messages, and with each word read, her frown grows deeper. "The SS Valiant?"

Uhura's nod confirms it.

Jim keeps on reading because she is still skeptical. "He's sure about that?"

"Completely."

"And the tapes? Were they salvageable?" Her eyes scan the message and she points to a specific line as she says, "Here Scotty mentions that the recorder-marker has to be over 200 years old. I can't imagine that they'll stream properly, not with the level of damage they must have sustained."

"Because it was ejected when the ship was destroyed, most of the tapes couldn't be properly fed into the computer. A lot of them were either charred or burned completely. It'll take some time, but with what I've been given so far, I should be able to interpret every legible transmission."

Jim grins. "With your freakishly sharp ears, I don't doubt it."

Uhura crosses her arms. "I'll take that as a compliment, _Captain._"

Jim drops her gaze to her PADD and rereads the first message from Scotty. "I'm wondering if it would be of any use to include Dr. Dehner. She might have some helpful incite on the matter. We wont know what we're dealing with until we find out why the SS Valiant was destroyed."

"I can forward a copy of the tapes to her PADD," Uhura suggests.

Jim nods. "And do the same for Commander Spock while you're at it. Until we have our answers, we're keeping this between the five of us. No need to draw attention to it if it's nothing," she says.

"Aye, Captain," Uhura replies. She turns to leave and Jim walks her to the door. When the door slides open, she pauses in the threshold and says, "I know we haven't exactly seen eye-to-eye, but," she hesitates. "I just want you to know that if you ever need to talk. My freakishly sharp ears are here for you."

Jim's eyebrows lift in surprise. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

"You'd better," Uhura warns and goes striding down the corridor with her usual grace and poise.

Jim snorts and her door swishes to a close. Just how pathetic did she look to make her usually hostile communications officer offer a sympathetic ear? She sighs and glances back down at her PADD, noticing two unread messages. One is from Sulu and one from Sarek.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**LIEUTENANT HIKARU S SULU VIA JAPAN, EARTH**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Captain Awesome,_

_Don't terrorize Chekov._

_I have never owned a cat nor do I plan on owning one and mourning for it so theatrically when it dies. _

_Also, it's really creepy envisioning you with a handlebar mustache._

_If you really have to know, my father had a heart attack. I'm taking time off to be sure that he gets better. My mom's getting up there in age, you know, and I know the stress of it all can get to her._

_Give it a few months and I'll be back._

_Seriously though, leave Chekov alone. _

_Try not to crash and burn without me._

_You're Just Jealous of My Fencing Skills,_

_Sulu_

Jim smiles sadly and deletes the message, then reads Sarek's.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**AMBASSADOR S'CHN T'GAI SAREK VIA CALIFORNIA, EARTH**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_James,_

_I am amendable to this suggestion. I will await your communication._

_Sarek_

Jim runs a hand through her disheveled bangs and combs them out of her eyes. "Computer. Time?"

"_Current time—1827—fourteen hours until alpha shift._"

Jim chews on her bottom lip thoughtfully as she plans her next move. A quick shower and a change of clothes wouldn't hurt. She wants to look decent, even if it is a vid conference. Mind made up, she scampers around her quarters, spending the next half an hour freshening up. She makes her way over to her workspace. She plops down on her chair and fiddles with the flat panel monitor atop her desk to her right, adjusting it so that she can see the screen clearly before she quickly gets to work opening a link of communication to Earth.

Sarek appears across the screen moments later.

Jim lets her mouth curl into a small smile. "Good evening Sarek, I hope you are well."

Sarek lifts his hand in the Vulcan salute. "I am in perfect health, James. May I inquire the same?"

Jim shrugs. "I'm fine."

Sarek quirks a brow. "'_Fine_' has variable definitions, James. '_Fine_' is unacceptable, even by human standards."

"Well, now I can say I know where Spock's coined that phrase," Jim says, hoping to ease the conversation in a different direction.

"Vulcans are not easily distracted. You are avoiding the subject. You will speak your mind and explain the cause for your troubled appearance," Sarek says.

Jim sighs quietly. He's quite demanding isn't he? It is strangely endearing somehow. "Its nothing I want to bother you with," Jim replies as she leans back in her chair.

Sarek's expression says he disapproves of her answer. "You cannot '_bother'_ me by explaining what plagues you. Speak your mind, James."

Jim hesitates. She has no choice but to. She's not really good when it comes to sharing. Whenever she has to talk about her feelings, she always speaks with distance, as though the emotions she describes belongs to someone else. As though she's viewing her own feelings with a cold scientific view. And really, how much could she say without upsetting Sarek in the process? She knows he would argue that Vulcans don't experience such emotions, but she'd just be reminded of the conversation she eavesdropped on a week ago.

Yet there is something oddly appealing about sharing her secrets with someone who doesn't know her so well. It seems kind of freeing in a way. With Sarek, there'd be no possibility of judgment or aversion to her complete honesty. But could she really be so open, just like that, just at the drop of a hat? She's curious though, so damned curious and she's never been anything but a slave to her own curiosity. Just what would it be like having a heart to heart with the Vulcan? What were his intentions?

Jim feels a headache build in the middle of her eyes and she has to force herself to stop thinking for a moment.

Sarek has been patiently quiet all the while.

Somehow, Jim is grateful for that. She decides to just throw all caution to the wind. "I dream of Vulcan."

Sarek says nothing but it is obvious he is listening attentively.

Jim continues, "I dream that I'm in a-" she hesitates and redirects her gaze to some unknown point to her left. "In a sea of my own tears," she finishes. "I'm floating. Just floating. Then there's always something that breaches the water. Sometimes it's red sand or chunks of burning rocks. Other times it's bodies." She swallows as a deep ache of guilt coils around her heart and squeezes like a snake. "Vulcan bodies. Men, women, children. They fall in and sink. They sink down into the blackness below my feet. Sometimes I sink with them, or sometimes there's an overflow, and I'm drowning in Vulcan corpses…" Jim shudders and closes her eyes to steady herself. "It's been the same, every time I close my eyes, ever since that day. Only its getting worse because I wake up just sobbing like a little baby and I feel-" She pauses to reach around her mind for the right words. "I feel heartache. Like there was this great love of my life that I've known for years and years, and suddenly, in a blink of an eye, that love is taken from me.

"And I start feeling lonely. I feel like there's something missing, and no matter which way I try to look at it, it's always Vulcan. But it makes no sense because I wasn't born and raised on Vulcan, yet, there's this deep-seeded grief inside of me that feels as though my heart was very close to Vulcan, and when it died, so did a part of me."

Sarek continues his silence but there is an air of contemplation around him.

Jim somehow feels lighter, now that she's confessed to the recurring nightmares. The images have been bottled up inside of her, pressing down an unseen weight of guilt on her shoulders and choking her heart.

"Self-reproach is illogical, James," Sarek finally says. He seems to be choosing his words carefully. "Even so when concerning those things that cannot be changed."

Sarek is attempting to comfort her. Jim slowly begins to realize this. "Is that a pretty way of saying I shouldn't blame myself?" she asks. She can't help the things she says sometimes, and she's made nervous by the fact that he can read her so easily.

Sarek assesses her with his dark eyes before he continues, "Many have fallen in the wake of Vulcan's parting. It is a blow felt by all who remains, but we do not tarry on what once was. We focus instead on what shall be. So long as there are those of us who live to remember, the essence of our culture and of our people shall never perish. Your mourning has doubled. It is a consequence of the bond you share with my son. You will be susceptible to any feelings the grief that Spock experiences."

Jim frowns. "That explains why I've been sobbing like a baby. I've never been one to cry so easily."

"Indeed?" Sarek queries. "I have observed that humans show a unique capacity and sensitivity to emotional discernment."

"Cause and effect huh?" Jim replies thoughtfully. "We do have the tendency to feed off of each other's '_vibes_'. It's almost like photosynthesis in a way." She turns her chair back and forth slightly as she intertwines her fingers over her stomach. "Will it always be like this? Will it always be so easy to reach for him…?" She makes an indication with her index finger towards her temple.

Sarek responds, "When you are _t'hy'la_, there will be no end to the deep connections shared between such blessed individuals." Here he goes quiet, as though remarking his own statement. His dark eyes show a hint of sadness and Jim immediately knows why that is.

"I've heard that being _t'hy'la_ is a very special thing," Jim murmurs quietly.

Sarek answers in a confirming way, saying, "There is no greater union."

Jim shifts back and forth in her chair quietly. "Your wife was human?" she asks gently.

"Indeed," Sarek replies. "She was called Amanda." Here his eyes soften.

Jim is curious, but she doesn't want to pry.

Sarek notices, and says, "You may ask what you wish. The answers to your queries may be beneficial in turn to any thoughts you have about the bond you share with my son."

Jim is surprised by the offer. She knows it shows on her face, and she is sure that her silence is very telling.

Sarek almost looks amused by her gaping, but it is impossible to tell really since his face gives no telltale twitch. It's his eyes that give him away. Much like Spock, she can sometimes tell what's going on behind them, through them. "Speak you mind, James."

Jim blinks and closes her gaping mouth. "You should call me, Jim," she says, delaying the questions she has a little further.

"I do not wish to," Sarek says simply and the frankness of it makes Jim smile a little. "You can be certain that how I choose to address your name will have no greater impact on my continuing opinion of you."

_Vulcan Translation: _I've decided that you're not as bad as I first thought, it won't make a difference either way I say your name.

"Now," Sarek goes on to say, "Cease these attempts at distracting me. Speak your mind, James."

Jim grins sheepishly and fidgets a bit, partially from embarrassment of being called out so accurately. "Okay," she says simply. She takes a deep breath. "How did you meet her?"

Sarek's posture straightens as his chin lifts and he looks as though he's preparing to give a very important speech. "As newly appointed ambassador, I frequented Earth a number of times for long periods. I spent much of my time at the Vulcan Embassy under the guidance of Ambassador Selden. He found my reclusiveness to be distasteful. He would often state, '_How can you serve a people, or even assist them of their needs, if you make no efforts to know them._'" Sarek's eyes lower briefly before they meet Jim's again. "I knew of humans through my studies at the Vulcan Science Academy. I saw no reason in learning any more than what was already known to me. In truth, it was my aversion to humans and the illogical way they displayed their emotions so freely that kept me within the grounds of the Embassy.

"Ambassador Selden disapproved, and suggested that I walk off grounds to explore the surrounding city. He advised me to initiate exactly one conversation with a human on the manner of any subject to my choosing. I was to then catalogue any discoveries made as result of any encounters. He warned me that if I did not, he would find no greater use for my presence."

Jim grins and leans against the edge of her desk. "Sounds like he was trying to scare you straight."

"It is possible," Sarek reluctantly agrees. "As a diplomat, it is only logical to expand my horizons."

Jim nods and gestures for him to continue with his story.

Sarek straightens once more and resumes, "I spent exactly one hour off grounds, walking with no intended direction, contemplating the proper procedures with which to approach a human."

_Vulcan Translation: _I was trying to figure out a way to randomly talk to one of you humans without seeming like a creep.

Jim snorts.

Sarek quirks a brow in response, but doesn't comment. "I met no point of success until 15 days later. It would happen on this day that I set out earlier than my usual departure. There was a flower shop exactly 2,112 feet from the Vulcan Embassy. Curious about the contents within, I sought entrance and was at once met by the shop's owner, Amanda Grayson. She greeted me kindly and I inquired about the nature of the store. She smiled, stating that each flora had no designated purpose, that it was up to the buyer to decide the fate of them. Whether they were given as a gift, a token of affection or as a way of adorning one's dwelling. She then took it upon herself to teach me about the etiquette of giving and receiving the flora. She appeared quite happy speaking on these things, and I did nothing to dissuade her."

Jim presses her fingers against lips to her mouth to hide her smile.

Sarek makes no notice, too enraptured now in his own musings. "When the hour grew late, I departed with a promise of returning so that she may resume her explanations. I found myself there every day after two weeks, and paid no heed to the fact that I had not made an effort to go elsewhere. Ambassador Selden was aware of my travels, and made no comment, seemingly satisfied that I was carrying out his task with no dispute. Everyday I went, and everyday Amanda greeted me warmly and said nothing as I lingered and observed her as she took care of her plants. While she gave them the proper sustenance, she often spoke to them, stating that flora retain the ability to respond receptively to sound and energy. There were times when she attempted to petition my participation."

Jim moves her fingers from her mouth and asks, "Did you?"

"On occasion," Sarek vaguely replies. "Amanda had the uncanny ability to solicit such illogical actions, and I allowed her without protest," he remarks. "She was a—fascinating individual. Full of will and passion."

Jim wiggles back in her seat and draws her legs up, folding them into a pretzel as she held onto her ankles. "When did you two start dating?" she asks curiously.

"Human mating rituals are unlike our own," Sarek replies. "Though if I were to give an answer, it would be exactly 45.2 days from our first initial meeting when Amanda remarked, '_Sarek, it is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. When will you muster up the courage and ask me on a date?_'"

Jim can't control the laugh that bubbles out of her chest. "What a gutsy woman, to say such a thing to a Vulcan," she grins.

"Undeniably," Sarek agrees, looking vaguely amused. "It was an asset of her character."

"And quoting Pride and Prejudice no less," Jim says, grinning still.

"There were a number of books she favored," Sarek replies. "Most of which she quoted verbatim when she was not too pleased with Spock and myself."

Jim nodded and dropped her legs to the ground as she leaned forward. "When did you decide she was the one?"

"The one?" Sarek sounds perplexed.

"I mean," Jim considers her words carefully. "When did it occur to you that you wanted to marry her?"

A look of comprehension crosses his features. "It was explained to me that the purpose of arranged trysts were to inquire of the compatibility between two individuals. In most cases they were not met with success," Sarek says. "We differed greatly in culture. Amanda would assure me that it was perfectly acceptable if things did not, as she stated, '_run smoothly'_. As my imminent return to Vulcan drew near, I considered the matter of our relationship greatly, and meditated for the next 4 days. I resolved that Amanda bore an agreeable temperament, to which I found highly—favorable. Marrying Amanda was only logical."

And somehow, to Jim, that sounds like the most romantic thing she's ever heard. Her face slackens with sadness when she remembers. "I would have liked to have met her," she admits softly.

Sarek studies her for a moment, before he responds, "I believe she would have returned the sentiment. She would have been pleased to know that her son has found someone worthy of the _ni'var_, and I am inclined to agree."

Jim's face is a mess of red, because while she does not know but a few words in Vulcan, that is one phrase she recognized.

_Ni'var. _Two halves that unite to make one, and prosper in revelation of a divine connection.

"Sarek." Jim pauses to clear her throat. Her face has cooled slightly, be she knows there is still traces of pink there. "Not that I'm not flattered by your blatant approval," she says. "I think you should know that your son is already in a relationship."

"You refer to your communications officer," Sarek responds.

Jim blinks in response. "Uh, yes—her."

"I am aware."

_Oh. Okay. Well—there goes my argument, _Jim thinks at the blank expression on Sarek's face. He doesn't seem to understand that Spock's existing relationship could potentially be a problem.

"Is there a way to—I don't know—annul the bond?" Jim asks.

"_Kaiidth_, James," Sarek says. "You will come to learn that you cannot change what is. There will come a time when you have to decide on this matter. His current relationship will come to an end soon enough."

Jim just blinks.

"Again, I request that you speak with my son with this matter. It is clear that your hesitation stems from a fear of rejection. This is illogical. You and Spock are _t'hy'la. _I remind you that there is no greater connection," Sarek says. "I shall leave you to retire. We will speak again." He pauses and observes her. "James, I urge you to procure the proper sustenance. Your stomach has made an audible indication that you require it."

Jim grins sheepishly and puts her hands to her stomach. Looks like Uhura isn't the only one with hypersensitive hearing. "Right. Until next time. Have a good night."

"I return the sentiment."

"Farewell."

"Peace and long life, James."

The screen draws blank and Jim sags in her seat with an audible sigh. That wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. She actually kind of enjoyed that. "Computer. Time?"

"_Current time—2012—twelve hours until alpha shift._"

Jim swung to and fro in her chair as she considered this. "Computer. Location of one Leonard McCoy."

"_Checking—found—Lieutenant Commander McCoy is located at Sickbay, Deck 7._"

Of course he is.

Jim smiles with a purpose as she goes on her hunt for her shoes.

Why can she never find her shoes?

888

Bones is actually in his office when Jim comes swaggering into Sickbay. He's at his desk, one hand holding his PADD as the other grips a half glass of bourbon. He's grumbling to himself with his eyes furrowed, so concentrated that he doesn't notice Jim leaning in his doorway.

Jim waits a full two minutes before she says, "Are you done yet? I'm hungry, Bones."

Bones jumps, spilling some bourbon down his hand with a swear. "_Goddamn it_, Jim. Next time cough or somethin'!" he snaps, grabbing the nearest napkin to dry his hand with.

Jim crosses her arms and lifts one hand to study her nails nonchalantly. "Well…" she drawls. "I didn't want to break your concentration. Thought it might be rude."

"And scaring me half to death isn't?" Bones retorts with a raised brow as he eyes her.

"Nah," Jim says, waving him off.

Bones rolls his eyes.

"Well come on. I'm hungry."

Bones grumbles. "Just give me a minute, let me wrap this up," he replies. Then as he does just that, he asks, "When was the last time you ate?"

Jim shrugs, even though she knows he can't see it. "I had an apple," she says somewhat defensively.

"Oh gee, an apple. That surely suffices for all 1370 calories your body's sure to have burned today. Not to mention the extra 500 lost from your lack of sleep," Bones grumbles.

Jim sighs long-sufferingly. She'd totally seen this coming. Bones was in his mother hen mode. "I'll do better, I promise. That was just today, wont happen again."

"You damn right it wont," Bones mutters in response.

Jim smiles.

"Excuse me, Captain, can I get through? I just need to give something to Leonard," a voice says from behind her.

Jim turns and grins wolfishly. "Why, Nurse Chapel, its so good to see you," she says as she moves out of the lovely blonde's way. "I sure hope my CMO is treating you well."

Chapel shuffles past Jim with a kind smile, cradling her PADD. "Leonard is very polite," she replies.

Jim cocks her eyebrow, as she looks at Bones who is steadily growing flustered as he scrambles to his feet.

"I need you to sign off on this," Chapel says softly and turns the PADD in his direction. She glances at Jim and then back at Bones whose jotting down his John Hancock. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Course not, darlin'," Bones replies placatingly. "Jimmy here was just bein' a continual pain in my side like always."

Chapel glances at Jim, as though to confirm this.

Jim just lifts both eyebrows and shrugs wordlessly, a little amused by the proceedings.

"Thank you, Christine," Bones says as he hands her back the PADD.

Chapel nods and lingers a bit longer, fiddling with her PADD. "Well…" she starts. "Well have a good night, Leonard."

Bones nods. "Same to you."

Chapel smiles at him with one lingering look before she sweeps out of the room with a quick, "Captain."

Jim salutes her and watches her disappear. She turns back to Bones who plops back into his seat with an unintelligible mutter. She waits for him to look up.

Bones does, and quite hesitantly too.

Jim doesn't disappoint. "Leonard huh?"

Bones swore colorfully.

Jim snickers. "Aw come on, Bones. I think it's sweet."

"It's juvenile," Bones argues a little self-deprecatingly. "Let's not talk about it."

Jim pouts. That's no fun.

With a sigh, Bones stands to his feet again. "Let's go get you fed," he said, putting his PADD away in one of his desk drawers.

Jim perks up as he saddles up beside her and they fall in step as they exit Sickbay and head for the Mess.

"So I talked with Sarek," Jim says nonchalantly.

Bones quirks a brow curiously. "Oh yeah, and how'd that go?"

Jim shrugs faintly. "Not as bad as I thought it would be. He's not too hard to talk to."

"Now I find _that_ hard to believe," Bones huffs. "Walking freezer boxes, the whole lot of 'em."

Jim frowns. "Don't be mean."

"I'm allowed my opinion, Kid," Bones retorts. "Hell, you can't blame me for not findin' any redeeming qualities. Not after that stunt that pointy-eared bastard pulled on the bridge."

Jim says nothing.

"Was he able to clear up a few things for you?" Bones asks after a while.

Jim nods as they turn into the Mess. "In a way," she admits. "We mostly ended talking about his love life. It was pretty interesting."

"I'll take your word for it, Kid," Bones replies. "Now find somewhere to sit, I'll get us somethin'."

Jim nods and is able to find an empty table. As she sits, she looks around the Mess for any familiar faces. The only two she's able to recognize is Uhura and Spock, who are sitting off in a corner, and from the appearance of things, neither of them look too happy. Uhura is gesturing wildly between them with a severe frown. She pauses and seems to be waiting for his response. Spock is sitting ramrod straight in his seat, and he's sporting his usual blank expression, but it's his eyes that give him away. He looks equal parts confused and bothered. It's almost like he can't quite seem to understand what it is Uhura wants from him. After a minute or two, his mouth moves, and whatever he says causes Uhura to laugh sharply. Spock's eyebrows are furrowed and he looks taken aback by this response. Uhura shakes her head and stands. Without another word she exits the Mess. Spock remains at their table, eyes lowered and brows furrowed still in deep thought.

Jim subconsciously rises out of her seat, ready to go ask after him, but Bones is setting a tray of food in front of her and this simple gesture snaps her out of it. She plops back down again.

"Just where were you headed off to?" Bones questions as he sits in front of her.

Jim doesn't look at Spock again. "You were taking too long. I was just about to come see if you'd been kidnapped," she lies.

Bones shakes his head. He looks down and starts cutting at his steak and baked potato.

Jim takes this time to sneak a glance back over.

Spock's gone.

Jim sighs and tentatively starts eating her chicken alfredo. Her conversation with Sarek, swirling through her mind as she does so.

888

_Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping._

Silence.

_Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping._

Silence.

_Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping._

Jim groans from under her pillow. It's been the most peaceful sleep she's gotten in a week. It's dreamless and perfectly the way she'd prefer. "Computer. Time?"

"_Current time—0400—four hours until alpha shift._"

What the hell?

Jim figures that since it isn't her alarm trying to wake her, she must have a priority message waiting for her. She's too tired and too lazy to get up. Her PADD is still at her work desk, right where she'd left it when she was reading her siblings' letters. "Computer. Connect with PADD," she mumbles as she lifts her head, blinking unseeingly through the darkness that swallows her quarters.

"_You have an awaiting encrypted message from Starfleet. Labeled top priority. Authorization required._"

"Computer. Access message, authorization code 39624."

"_Authorization code confirmed."_

_"_Report."

"_Accessing—audio transmitting—_

**STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE **

**HIGH PRIORITY**

**STARDATE 225303.31**

**ADMIRAL BARNETT VIA CALIFORNIA, EARTH**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_James,_

_I'm going to get straight to the point here. Starfleet has ordered a pursuit and capture of an unregistered "class J" vessel. Now this vessel has been sighted several times, flying a little too close for comfort in the Romulan Neutral Zone. Considering the "Nero" situation and the events that followed in these past weeks, you can imagine why we feel uneasy about that. The peaceful retrieval of the vessel and crew aboard without disrupting the treaty that still stands between us and the Romulans is vital. Now based on what little communication we were able to gain with the vessel, we have reason to believe that all crew aboard are humans. As you can see, that presents an even greater problem, because if they are skirting just along the Neutral Zone—well—it is quite needless to say how uncomfortable that might make things. As soon as you can, Kirk, lock in coordinates for the Neutral Zone. Remember. This is a delicate retrieval and has to be treated with the utmost caution. The last thing we need is a few of our own starting another war with the Romulans._

_And off the record, Kirk, I have complete faith that you will do what is necessary, should you find yourself further in than intended. Other than that, I'm curious to know how you're doing. Don't be a stranger, Jim. Hail me sometime. Just because I audited you for your "interesting methods" concerning the Kobayashi Maru, doesn't mean you can't come to me about anything. I know you're not ignorant of the rumors that not all of Starfleet agreed with your promotion. _

_Pike was a very dear friend to me, and I have always trusted his judgment. He saw real potential in you, and I know he would have believed your captaining the Enterprise is well-deserved. That's enough to convince me that you have some idea of what you're doing. You may have a lot of enemies, Jim, but you can put me down as a supporter. You'll come to learn that having me on your side is a very good thing._

_You have your orders Captain Kirk._

_Good luck._

_Admiral Barnett_

"_End of message."_

Jim blinks, completely awake now.

"Well, shit."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note: <em>**_Finally, right? I know I took so long, but that's because this chapter took a considerable amount of thought. Hopefully the next chapter wont take so long. But I'm dying to know what you all think. Please comment._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

There are three things that Jim realizes.

The first is that she wont be able to go back to sleep, (no way, not after that message). The second is that she's having an anxiety attack that is draining her ability to remember anything concerning The Earth-Romulan War. This anxiety leads her scrambling to her workspace where her PADD is, pulling up every article she can find, and buries herself in this research. Halfway through reading articles and papers and statements, she finds her own (very detailed, very researched) paper from her first year at Starfleet Academy. She blinks at it for a moment before she laughs deliriously and drops her forehead to her desk. Now that the panic has passed and self-deprecating humor forms in its place, she begins to mentally kick herself.

_Way to go Captain Kirk. You bitch and moan about having nothing to do. Then you get your first mission, and what do you do? You freak out._ Jim shakes her head against the desk and continues to mentally kick her own ass. It is a good thing she received the message in the privacy of her quarters. No doubt she would have made a fool of herself (not to say she hasn't already, alone or not) in front of her crew. She _really_ wants to punch herself in the face.

As Jim lifts her head off her desk and stands, the third thing she realizes is that she has a shared bathroom with her First Officer, making their quarters _connected_. Honestly, she'd tried not to think about it really. She'd known all along, but, well, they do say ignorance is bliss.

Jim rubs her forehead as she walks to her dresser to throw on a grey sweater and some cotton candy colored pajama bottoms. Spock would not appreciate her waltzing into his quarters with nothing but her lime green polka-dotted underwear on. She haphazardly throws her hair into a ponytail, and walks back over to her desk to swipe her PADD. Cradling it under her left arm, she strolls to the bathroom and heads to the door on the other side. Once there, she fidgets and contemplates knocking, but it is clear to her that if she does knock, she'll just chicken out and bolt for Bones's quarters, bemoaning the fact that she acted like a complete coward.

_Or some silly schoolgirl with an embarrassing crush, _Jim's mind supplies unhelpfully.

Of course that kind of behavior is unacceptable. She's no coward, and as if to prove it to herself, she lets herself in (without even a courtesy knock, take that lovesick subconscious) and scans the room for him. Her senses are immediately assaulted by the sharp smell of cinnamon and burning incense. The lighting is very low and it's somewhat hard to see. She can still make out Spock's bed, which is neatly made, despite the fact that it's 0600 hours, still two hours until their next shift. Well, okay, Jim could totally see Spock being awake at this ungodly hour. Vulcans were punctual freaks, that much could be said. Still, just because his bed was made, didn't mean he'd spent the night in his own quarters. Spock is still very much in a relationship, leaving him with a second option and a second bed to rest his over-calculating head. Something churns in her gut unpleasantly at the thought of that.

_You know better though, you can feel him, _her mind says.

Jim frowns.

It's painfully true. She may not be able to sense his emotions but she can still sense his presence whenever he was within vicinity. The gut feeling leads her around the corner to his workspace, where she spots him immediately. Something akin to relief swells inside of her, along with another feeling she cant quite place, and it eases all the tension in her body like an emotional sedative. Spock is sitting quietly at his desk in his uniform, working on God only knows. With his work ethic, Jim finds it hard to believe that he has any project that requires his attention. Jim on the other hand—well—she isn't even going to finish that line of thought because it's pretty self-explanatory.

"Captain," Spock says, without even looking up at her.

Jim glances at him expectantly and waits.

"May I inquire as to why you have sought entrance into my quarters for the past six minutes and thirty-three seconds without invitation?" When Spock does look up, he meets her eyes before they lower to her feet. Her bare feet. When his gaze returns, he gives her a pointed look.

Jim smiles sheepishly and shrugs. She'd forgotten about putting on some shoes. She's never really mindful when it comes to shoes. If it were up to Jim, shoes would be outlawed. He should be happy she's got on any clothes period. She really is a savage at heart.

_Just call me Jim the Barbarian_, she thinks as she presses her fingers to her lips to hide her amused grin.

Spock quirks an eyebrow.

Jim suddenly remembers his question. She drops her hand and clears her throat, saying, "Uh—sorry. I just—I have something I really need you to look at." She removes her PADD from under her arm and pulls up the message from Admiral Barnett and forwards it to Spock.

_Ping._

Spock drops his gaze to his PADD and promptly reads the message. "I see," he simply says. "Have you alerted the bridge to the change in course?"

Jim reddens slightly, and mentally curses her blunder.

Spock lifts his gaze at her silence and his eyebrows furrow as he studies the pinkness of her cheeks. His mouth and eyes are equally riddled with disapproval, but his voice otherwise remains unaffected. "You have not." He voices it as a fact.

Jim fidgets and makes a noncommittal gesture with one hand as the other combs her blonde bangs from her blue eyes. "It's still early. My mind is processing things. I did get it while I was coming up out of sleep. Not everyone can be a morning bird like you. And I—well I—" _Am making excuses for my incompetency. _Jim shuts her mouth with a thoughtful frown and quits while she's ahead. How the hell is he always capable of making her feel like a little blubbering kid?

Spock analyses her for a moment longer, before he murmurs, "I see."

And maybe he does, Jim isn't entirely sure. The walls put up between them by Sarek makes it difficult for Jim to tell what Spock is really feeling. It bothers her, she can admit to that. Though, in this moment, she doesn't need the bond to tell her that Spock is judging her, and that certainly wouldn't do.

Spock's eyes finally lower to his PADD once more and his hands move with renewed purpose. "I will send a notification to the bridge with the specified coordinates, and alert engineering to our change in course. Admiral Barnett has made a clear indication that the completion of our mission is vital. Further delay would be counterproductive."

Jim has nothing to say to that. She brings her gaze down to her own PADD for a moment to reread Admiral Barnett's message. She can feel her eyebrows pull down and crinkle the skin above the bridge of her nose. Speaking of time. "Do you have a guesstimate to how long it'll take for us to get there?" she asks.

Spock stills and goes silent, glancing up at her with calculating dark eyes. She can practically see all kinds of physics equations swirling in that all too rational brain. Another second has passed before he replies, "Based on our current telemetry, I estimate arrival to The Romulan Neutral Zone will take place in exactly seven point three days."

"Seven days?" Jim hopes she isn't whining, because she most likely totally is. "How can we be sure that we wont be too late?"

"We can not," Spock says as he meets her eyes. There is something mischievous lurking in that usually cool and remote expression of his. "If it is so," he continues. "Your hesitation in alerting the bridge to our assigned coordinates will have made the deciding difference."

Vulcan Translation:_If we are late, it will be your fault. I will gladly rub it in._

Jim's lips shrivel into a tight frown. She would have told them eventually. Really. "That's three times you've sassed me now, Mr. Spock," she drawls while she gives him a meaningful look.

Spock returns her gaze with an equally blank and innocent expression. "Sass, Captain?"

"Yes, _sass. _You know, the equivalent of insubordination, only a little less harmless," _and maybe a little hot, if used in the right context. _Jim ignores the thought because Spock is in still in a _committed_ relationship. The committed part isn't what's stopping her. It's Spock's scary battle-axe wielding girlfriend.

"I assure you, I am not, in any way, '_sassing_'you," Spock reassures, albeit a bit unconvincingly. "Captain, if you no longer need my assistance, I would like to return to my work." Spock straightens in his seat and tilts his head down towards his PADD.

"All work and no play makes Vulcans very dull I'm sure," Jim mutters as her eyes travel along the sharp angles of his jaw all the way up to his pointed ear. Her fingers jerk at her sides at the need to touch. That seems to be a recurring kink when it comes to him. Why the fuck is that?

"I can not ascertain the meaning behind your statement," Spock remarks without looking up, and without ceasing the fluid motions of his hands. He clearly has no trouble dividing his attention. "I hold the title of First Officer and Science Officer, therefore there are a quantity of projects that require my attention."

Jim examines his arched eyebrows for a moment before she says, "So you're twice as busy as the rest of us." She tucks her PADD under her right arm as she takes the time to look around. She glances to the right towards an atrociously yellow and blue potted plant, standing on it's lonesome in the corner. It looks depressed. Were plants even supposed to look depressed? Because this one totally did. Something about it had Uhura written all over it. Jim cringes and turns her attention back to Spock. She watches as he becomes even more engraved in his work. It's quite the sight. "You really are the poster child for productivity."

Spock pauses shortly and furrows his eyebrows, as though trying to comprehend her words. Jim is suddenly reminded of the day before in the Mess Hall. "Certainly not, Captain," he says after a while. "I am merely fulfilling all obligations that both titles demand."

"And I'm sure you do it very well, Commander," Jim retorts. "I didn't pick you as my First Officer just for your unquestionable logic. Do you know how much backlash I got from all those other captains who wanted to get their hands on that big beautiful brain of yours? If I wasn't well-liked before I'm certainly not now for having snagged you."

Spock's cheeks become tinged with a light green, as well as the tips of his ears. He refuses to look up.

Jim gapes a little and quickly covers her mouth to hide her very amused smile.

Spock, is, _blushing_.

This is one for the history books ladies and gentlemen.

Jim never even knew that was a possibility. Oh, she could have some fun with that.

Spock's hands clench and unclench on top of his desk, clearly uncomfortable by his own reaction.

Jim watches as his eyes flick up towards her, and not one to disappoint, she moves her hand from her face so she can grace him with a smug grin.

Although it doesn't evoke another blush, or deepen the one he's currently sporting like she'd hope, it still gets a small reaction.

Spock whips his gaze downward again, as though the mere sight of Jim is an iniquity. Embarrassment threatens to usurp his normally stoic and expressionless mask. He is also unnaturally silent.

"Alright there, Mr. Spock?" Jim asks softly, not even bothering to hide the humor in her voice.

Spock tenses all the more, if it's even possible, and he seems to be trying to set his desk on fire with his eyes. After a few minutes he opens his mouth to say something, but then appears to think better of it and instead utters, "Captain," his voice is severely even and his skin has resumed its normal color. "Perhaps it is best that you retire and spend the remainder of your time before your next shift has commenced, studying Starfleet protocol concerning assigned missions."

Jim's face immediately slumps into a frown. The hilarity of the situation has quickly died.

_Spock is such a killjoy, _Jim thinks as she bites back an insult. She's read that particular part of the manual enough times to cite it by mere memory, thank you very fucking much.

"I'll keep that in mind," Jim drawls sarcastically.

"That would be wise," Spock agrees and finally looks up at her. He either doesn't notice her tone of voice or he doesn't care. "If there is nothing further…?"

Jim ignores the blatant dismissal. "Actually I was wondering if you could look up anything to do with our current standing with Romulus, considering the whole debacle with Nero. Are they even aware of what's happened?"

Spock's expression suddenly twists into something unreadable. Whatever thoughts he has on the issue is carefully being masked. "I do not believe they are—_unaware_," he replies vaguely.

Jim frowns and observes his blank expression, but she finds nothing there. She even analyses his dark eyes, and she still gains no luck.

"Nevertheless," Spock continues, lowering his gaze once more. "I shall endeavor to provide you with the answers you seek."

"Thank you," Jim replies, somewhat reluctantly.

Spock's response is immediate. "Your gratitude is unnecessary. I am merely fulfilling my obligations to you as First Officer."

Jim's lips twitch in irritation. "I'll try to remember that in the future," she retorts sarcastically.

"That would be wise," Spock reiterates, once again ignorant of her tone.

Jim sighs and shakes her head. "Has Uhura briefed you on the SS Valiant situation?"

"Affirmative."

"And...?"

"There is no definite answer I can give."

"I find that hard to believe."

"My findings remain inconclusive for the moment, Captain. It is quite perplexing," Spock explains with a furrow of his eyebrows.

Jim shifts her weight to her other foot. "Perplexing _how_?" Does she really have to drag it out of him?

"There were a number of orders and counter orders."

"Was there some kind of confusion to who was in charge?"

"Inconclusive."

"Ah," Jim says. She drums her fingers against the side of her leg while she contemplates. "Anything else?"

"There was one other," Spock says. "The ship's computer logged an elevated amount of interest of any information regarding ESP in humans."

"ESP…?" Jim echoes quietly. Then, more loudly, she says, "Extrasensory perception."

"Indeed," Spock confirms, sounding just a tad bit impressed.

Jim does not roll her eyes. She knows people like to assume she's not as smart as she looks. "Does it relate in any way with what happened with or to the ship?"

"Inconclusive."

"Right," Jim says as she sighs with dissatisfaction. She decides not to press the issue. "ESP," she whispers thoughtfully to herself. Jim makes a mental note to do a little research, and also discuss it with Dr. Dehner to see if she's come to any conclusions. "Well, I'll leave you to it then," she says and turns to exit Spock's quarters the same way she entered.

"Captain," Spock starts.

Jim pauses without turning to face him and waits.

"I request that you refrain from intruding upon my personal quarters. It is most…" Spock trails off thoughtfully.

Awe, how sweet. Spock is making an effort to spare her feelings. Well in that case, she might as well lend a hand. "Inadequate? Insinuating? Inexcusable? Insulting? Infantile?" Jim grins deviously, knowing he'd be unable to see it.

"Invasive," Spock says flatly.

"Ah," Jim mocks with a thoughtful expression. "If I'm irritating you, _Commander_, you should just say so." She glances over her shoulder at him with lowered lashes.

Spock stands to his feet and runs the tips of his fingers along the edge of his blue shirt nonchalantly while he responds, "I am unfamiliar with the emotion."

_Bullshit. _Jim wants to say. She doesn't. She crosses her arms instead and faces him directly. "It's distasteful to lie."

"Vulcans do not lie," Spock replies immediately, like he practices it in the mirror everyday.

Jim scoffs and palms her PADD back and forth between her hands. "Not even the occasional white lie?" she presses.

"Negative," Spock says. "We find no value in dishonesty. Though I am aware that it is a characteristic found among many humans."

Oh that was a low blow. Jim feels the slow burn of anger uncoil inside of her, causing her fingers to curl tightly around her device. "Is that so?" She smiles slowly, and her lips stretch around her teeth predatorily. "Met a lot of distrustful humans have you?"

Spock eyes her somewhat warily. "There have been a few," he says. "This observation has been supported numerous times during my instruction at Starfleet Academy."

"Interesting," Jim says blandly. "You must have some good intuition to be able to sense our constructive use of the '_little white lie_'."

"That notion is presumptuous, Captain," Spock retorts unconcernedly, but his hands are twitching somewhat at his sides, giving away that the conversation does have some affect on him. "Also, falsehood bears no quantity and it certainly cannot be categorized by color. Calling a mistruth '_little_' and '_white_' is illogical."

He's clearly berating her. Jim won't stand for it. "Is Uhura aware of this withstanding opinion on human credibility? Because I can imagine _Nyota_ isn't particularly thrilled with that high and mighty attitude of yours," and she's knows she's being petty but she can't help it when Spock goads her like this.

Spock clasps his hands behind his back and says, "The nature of my relationship with Lieutenant Uhura is of no consequence to you."

"Of course," Jim agrees and swallows against the jealousy that begins to form. "I merely meant to say that it must be hard to relate emotionally. Not to mention all that brutal honesty—well—that must make things _really_ interesting between you two. Or really difficult. I'm guessing it's the latter."

"Captain, cease your inappropriate and unwarranted comments on my personal life," Spock growls and Jim knows she's hit a sore spot.

"Certain you don't know what irritation is?" Jim says, rebelling against any feelings of guilt. She lifts a hand and brushes her fingertips against her cheek. _That _cheek. "I seem to recall a little incident not too long ago that _really_ begs to differ."

"I have—conveyed my regret in that action," Spock responds quietly, suddenly looking subdued and uncomfortable.

"Of course," Jim retorts snidely, too caught up in her indirect anger and jealousy to stop. "You're only half-human, _Spock_. Though—it must be terrible—having bad blood like that." She's gone too far, and she doesn't know how she knows, but she just knows. She realizes it the moment she says it. Regret slaps her right across the face and she blinks out of her anger like a dream. "Spock—I—" she tries to apologize, tries to explain.

Spock's shoulders are shaking slightly. "You will remove yourself from my quarters," his voice is surprisingly steady.

Jim is rooted to the spot, torn between the want to stay and the urge to flee.

Spock lands her with a venomous glare. "_Depart _at _once_," he hisses warningly. "And do not return without my consent. Any further communication off-duty shall remain limited to our communicational devices."

Jim doesn't saying anything to that at first. Her head begins to ache. "I am sorry," she says quietly. "I've acted—"

Spock interjects coldly, "Captain, please depart." His tone is final.

Jim snaps her mouth shut with an audible clap. Her stomach cramps painfully from shame and her eyes are beginning to prickle with regret. She can feel her face warm and she spins on her heel quickly just as the first tear begins to slide down her cheek. She promptly leaves without looking back, and she strides through his door, into their shared bathroom. As soon as his door closes she collapses to her knees at the edge of toilet and buries her face in the crook of her arms. She shudders, making no sound as her tears slip freely down her face. She begins to sink into a dark feeling of—_guilt_, _hurt_, **_shame_**—that surrounds her mercilessly as she chokes on her own silent sobs. Suddenly her stomach seizes painfully and she's vomiting violently into the toilet as tears continually stream down her face. She keeps seeing his dark eyes. His dark tormented eyes. And it's all because of her, what she did, what she said. Her stomach heaves agonizingly against the wave of self-disgust and regret.

It feels too much like Tarsus. Too much. Too _much._

Jim shudders again, this time from fear, and wipes at her mouth with the back of her trembling hand. She slams her fist into the floor as she violent tremors seize her body. She's furious with herself. Just fucking ashamed and appalled. She punches the ground exactly ten times until her knuckles throb. She inhales sharply and squeezes her eyes close, clamping her teeth down to fight away the panic attack she feels coming. She hasn't had a panic attack this severe since Tarsus.

Her skin burns all over with uncomfortable irritation, tempting her to claw at herself for relief. Want, need, must, scratch.

"No," Jim whispers, fighting it down viciously.

_You haven't changed at all._

Jim shakes her head in denial as her body convulses.

_Your still the same vindictive little shit you were back then._

"No," Jim whimpers. "I'm not. I'm _not_."

_Just look at what you did to Spock. The man's mother hasn't even been properly dead for two weeks but you go and throw a barrel of salt on fresh wounds. He's no different from all those boys. All those innocent little boys._

"No, no," Jim moans, shaking.

_Still the same._

_Still the same._

_Murderer._

_Executioner._

"No, no, no, no," Jim chants and slaps her hands over her ears.

_Slaughterer._

_Monster._

_Beloved pet of Kodos. _

"_Alpha shift will commence in exactly—40 minutes—and—55 seconds._"

Jim eyes snap open and she blinks into awareness again. She's trembling still and it's hard to focus, but she presses back those dark thoughts with all her might. She willfully adjusts her breathing, inhaling and exhaling slowly until her heartbeat returns to its normal pace. When she feels well enough, and manages to get some semblance of a grip on herself, she gathers to her feet and heads to the sonic shower. She moves mechanically, setting the temperature and the pressure of the jets before she climbs in. She is consumed by depression as her hands move and rub soap unconsciously over her body and through her golden hair. She completes the task after fifteen minutes and steps out, grabbing the nearest tile to dry herself with. A surreal calm settles over her as she slides into her uniform. It clings to her as she pulls a toasted bagel and eggs from her replicator. She grabs a cup of orange juice as an afterthought.

She carries her food over to her work desk, setting it down, not even bothering to take a seat. Ignoring the strong feeling of nausea pitted deep within her gut, she clamps her eyes close and forces herself to eat. It becomes a battle of mental will until her plate is clean and her cup is empty. She scrubs at her mouth when she's finished and spins her on heel, quickly exiting her quarters. She is reluctant to linger any longer than necessary, lest she fall victim to the storm cloud of her guilt-ridden thoughts. Unlike the day before, she is less chipper as she strides through the corridors. Though, by the plastic smile she has plastered on her face, her crew is none the wiser.

_Thank God Bones is nowhere to be seen. He'd call me out in a second and drag my ass down to Sickbay to torture the answers out of me, _Jim thinks. The mere thought amuses her slightly and causes her synthetic smile to become genuine just a fraction. She steps onto the turbolift, grateful that it's empty, and sighs wearily. The lift rises and Jim starts a mental mantra, girding her loins with the courage to make it through this shift. She is the captain and she must act accordingly. She need not give all those doubting fuckers any reason to believe she is incapable of doing her job. She's wanted nothing but this her whole life, and now that she has it, now that she's right where she wants to be, she isn't just going to give it up.

_Rome wasn't built in a day_, Jim thinks. _This is going to take some getting used to. Stop selling yourself short. You're more than capable to lead them._

As the lift comes to a stop, she throws her shoulders back with renewed confidence and slaps on grin. The door opens to the bridge and all heads lift to acknowledge their captain. The whirrs and buzzes that sounds off from every station comforts and centers her. She _is _where she belongs, there's just no doubting that. She was meant for this.

"Mitchell, report," Jim says as she swaggers her way over to her chair, avoiding anything in the general direction of Spock.

Mitchell responds, "Coordinates locked for Sector Z-6, Captain. Warp factor six."

Jim nods. She opens her mouth to continue the sequence of events with the rest of the stations but she's interrupted.

_Ping. Ping. Ping._

Jim closes her mouth with a frown and lowers her gaze to her PADD, which is illuminated with a new notification. She opens it.

_FORWARDED to Captain James T Kirk _

_Search history via USS Enterprise Memory Banks_

_Keywords matching:_

_Romulan Neutral Zone__ / Earth-Romulan War / Earth-Romulus Treaty_

_ Sector Z-6 Starfleet Outposts / Romulan and Human Contact_

**_1 new result found_**

**STARFLEET TRANSMISSION REPORT**

**FREQUENCY RECORDED **

**LOGGED AND SENT TO STARFLEET COMMUNICATIONS **

**HIGH PRIORITY **

**STARDATE 225303.31**

_2100 hours Starfleet contacts Earth Outpost 1 / **Failed communication. 225303.31 **/ 2140 hours Starfleet contacts Earth Outpost 2 / **Failed communication. 225303.31 **/ 2200 hours Starfleet contacts Earth Outpost 3 / **Failed communication. 225303.31** / 2228 hours Starfleet contact Earth Outpost 4 / **Connection success. 225303.31**_

**Conversation Report via Lt. Garrison of Earth Outpost 4**

_Patrolling officer in Earth Outpost 4, guarding the neutral zone between planets Romulus and Remus and the rest of the galaxy, received emergency call from Earth Outposts 1 through 3. Officer cites receiving equal reports of those posts being under attack, then states that the message terminates. Attacker unknown. Space vessel identity unknown. Damage sustained unknown._

Jim's mind whirls rapidly, and a deep seed of suspicion and worry settles over her. Admiral Barnett never mentioned this part. Though, it is possible he might not have known. The transmission was logged around the same time her mission assignment was sent and received. Still, it's very peculiar.

Jim straightens in her chair, aware of every gaze that settles on her curiously. It's pure intuition that prompts her next move. She takes a deep breath, then says, "Commander Spock, send out a notification for a meeting in Briefing Room One to all the departmental heads."

Spock doesn't reply.

Jim stands and faces him as her fingers flex out at her sides. Even though she feels she has no right to be angry with him, she can't fight against the fury of his blatant disrespect. "Commander?" she addresses evenly.

Spock's shoulders and clasped hands tighten as his posture goes ramrod straight. "Yes, Captain?" he responds coolly.

Jim presses on regardless of the unpleasant churning in her gut. "Do I have to repeat myself?"

The tension on the bridge thickens and all eyes are watching them with the worst try at subtly Jim's ever witnessed. This isn't good. If they can sense the tension between them—if the tension is that easily tangible—Jim would have to figure out a way to address Spock on the issue, differences aside.

Spock hasn't even turned to face her properly. "Negative, Captain. My hearing is more than efficient."

The corner of Jim's mouth tics in irritation. "Just making sure. Thirty minutes, Commander. You have the conn," she replies and exits the bridge before she says something she will end up regretting, yet again.

Talk about hell in a hand basket. Her five year commission is already unraveling at the seams, and it hasn't been a full week yet.

888

Jim sat alone in the briefing room rubbing her temples with her eyes closed. A blanket of stress and exhaustion is working its way into her system. Her lack of sleep is beginning to get to her, not to mention the mental strain of tearing apart two mysteries in great detail. Between her avid readings on the history of the SS Valiant, known research of ESP that dates all the way back to the 21st century, and analyzing possible connections between the unregistered "class J" vessel and the unprovoked attacks against the Earth outposts right along The Neutral Zone, her brilliant brain is quickly reaching its limit. The problem isn't that she doesn't understand what's going on, it's that she's looking at too many details without hunting for a real place to start looking for solutions. She's looking at so many details that she forgets to take a step back and look at the big picture.

"What's got you wound so tight?" a gruff voice says.

Jim jumps a bit as her eyes open and flicker to her right to see Bones leaning back in his chair sporting his typical scowl tinged with concern. "Hey Bones. When did you get here?" she greets tiredly, avoiding his question.

Bones's scowl deepens. He's not easily fooled. "No lesser than a second ago," he replies. "Now tell me what the hell is wrong with you."

"With that sugary sweet voice, who could resist?" Jim retorts dryly.

Bones glares.

"Sorry—just—sorry." Jim sighs and drops her chin on top of her fist, which is propped by the elbow against the dark wood of the conference table. "Got a lot on my plate you know?" she murmurs. "A lot on my plate."

"Uh-huh," Bones says. "You mind tellin' me just exactly what your bein' served?"

Jim smiles sadly as Chekov, Mitchell and Scotty enter the room. "Not in front of the kiddies, Bones."

Bones doesn't look particularly happy with that but he nods once, understanding her need for privacy. "Later," he grouches and crosses his arms.

Dr. Dehner and Cupcake enter next, followed by Uhura and Spock. Jim immediately shifts her gaze elsewhere.

Yeomen Smith glides into the room with a pitcher of water and a stack of cups. She disappears, and then reappears with pot of coffee and a pot of tea. She disappears and then reappears once more with a tray of croissants, biscuits and toast, with small cups of jams and jellies. The tray also contains different, pre-diced fruits like cantaloupe, oranges, apples and pineapple. Smith leans over the conference table and neatly arranges it all. Jim's gaze just happens to drop to her very visible cleavage and of course Yeomen Smith chooses that moment to look up. Jim smiles guiltily as Smith shoots her a withering glare before storming out.

Bones hums thoughtfully. "What was that all about? She looked like she wanted to choke you with your own innards."

Jim shrugs a shoulder and watches as Bones grabs a piece of toast and a mug so that he can pour himself a cup of coffee. Everyone seems to be gravitating towards the arrangement of food. Jim takes that time to scan the room, counting heads and noticing that everyone is accounted for. Not wanting to delay things any further, she stands with her PADD and makes a gesture for everyone to sit as she walks to the front end of the table.

Jim wirelessly connects her PADD with the view screen and pulls up a picture. When all eyes face forward, she begins, "At 0400 hours I received a transmission from Starfleet. From Admiral Barnett to be more specific, and if you'll look to your PADDs, you'll see that I've forwarded it to you." Jim waits patiently as all eyes drop and there is a unanimous sound of shuffling and murmuring.

While everyone reads, Jim cradles her PADD under her arm and walks around the table to pour herself a cup of water. She brings it with her as she returns to the front of the room, taking small sips and kneeling to the basket of stylus pens on the floor, grabbing one for herself before she hands it to the nearest person (which happens to be Mitchell) and has him pass it around to everyone else. Jim takes a few more sips from her cup before she sets it down on the table, palming the stylus pen in one hand and her PADD in the other.

Chekov timidly lifts his hand, and Jim knows she's going to have to break him out of that habit as soon as possible. "You don't have to raise your hand, go ahead."

"Earth ship, Keptin?" Chekov is sporting a thoughtful frown.

"Hard to say," Jim replies and points her stylus pen to the picture on the view screen. "You tell me what that looks like."

"Is very blurry," Chekov says, narrowing his eyes in harsh scrutiny.

Scotty hums in agreement. "Aye, even I couldn't tell ye whether or not that's a ship or a comet."

"I am thinking it might not be Earth ship," Chekov says. "That means alien crew, yes?"

"It might but Admiral Barnett clearly states that Starfleet has every reason to believe that there is a human crew aboard," Uhura points out.

"Reason to believe doesn't parallel as they are," Mitchell retorts. "If they can't even be sure the vessel is in fact from Earth, how would they know the species of the crew?"

Uhura cuts her gaze to Mitchell and replies, "The ship doesn't have to be from Earth or even man-made by humans in order for its crew to be human."

Jim grins and circles her stylus pen over her PADD. Behind her, a red circle appears around the blurry figure of the ship on the view screen. "You're on the right track there, Lieutenant Uhura," she assures. All eyes fall back on her. "Take a good look at this picture." Jim waits a second before she removes and replaces it with an almost identical copy. "And take a look at this one," she says. "Do you see a difference?"

"The second looks a little less blurry," Bones tries for a guess.

"It's a different angle," Cupcake adds.

Jim nods considerably. "Okay, okay. Anything else?" she prompts.

The room falls thoughtfully silent.

"Okay," Jim drawls and switches back and forth before she makes it that both pictures are placed right alongside each other. "I'll let you guys on a little secret. Both pictures are of the same ship in the same area—yes, albeit, taken from different angles—but ideally still the same. The only difference—and this is a major one—is that the first one was taken almost _four _years ago. Four years," she says. "And the second is the most recent sighting of it. And when I say recent, I mean that this was taken yesterday."

"Four years?" Chekov repeats with the cutest confused frown that Jim's ever seen. "I'm sorry, Keptin, but I do not believe I am understanding this."

"I'm with Chekov," Mitchell says. "If that picture is from four years ago, why are we just now hearing about this? And when I say us I mean Starfleet of course."

"Perhaps at the time there was no cause for concern," Spock suggests. "If the ship did little to warrant any attention, it would not be made into an issue that would merit further action as it does currently."

Uhura adds, "And if four years is the difference, we'll have to consider what exactly was happening during that time period. There could be a significant event linking the ship to this general area."

"Could be," Jim agrees while she points her stylus behind her. "The first one is the _only _picture taken. The second however, has a substantial amount of pictures logged and taken. Now what does _that_ tell you?" she asks. "We know that it's the same ship, we know that there's a four year gap, and we also know, as far as we _can_ know at this point, that this is the first time Starfleet's decided to take action about it. But the big question is still why?"

Scotty lifts a finger, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "Well then it's just as the Commander says. They've not done a thing to draw attention to themselves until now. It's rather possible they're actions are intentional. If it's our attention they want, they've certainly gotten it now."

"Why is that exactly?" Bones asks with a frown. "Why be in _that _area specifically if all they wanted to do is wave a little white flag?"

"The doctor implies the notion of surrender," Spock says thoughtfully. "However illogical, the theory does hold merit."

"Well gee, Spock, I'm sure glad you think so," Bones scowls.

Jim throws him a look, silently urging him to behave and Bones just scowls all the more as he keeps his mouth shut.

"Surrendering?" Mitchell scoffs. "I don't believe it's that black and white."

"And you shouldn't," Jim finally speaks. She pulls up a transmission report and magnifies it on the view screen, running her stylus under two specific lines. "If you'll notice the time and dates on this transmission report, you'll notice it is around the same time Admiral Barnett's message was sent. Now pay attention to where it says outpost four received an emergency call from the other three about being under attack. And also note that it says the space vessel responsible for the attacks has an unknown identity."

"That must be the same ship we've got orders to retrieve," Uhura states.

Chekov nods eagerly in agreement. "I am thinking the exact same!"

There is a series of murmured agreements that fill the room. Jim feels inclined to believe that as well, but something about it just doesn't feel right. Something is still needling at her, and it's something she isn't seeing.

Jim glances around the room before her gaze lands on Dr. Dehner, who's been pretty quiet during the whole exchange. "Dr. Dehner?"

Dr. Dehner meets Jim's gaze. "Yes, Captain?"

"Thoughts?" Jim probes.

Dr. Dehner frowns. "On…?"

"Anything at all," Jim replies.

Dr. Dehner falls silent with a frown. "Well—" she begins. "It's quite strange."

Jim nods encouragingly, gesturing for her to continue.

"After I obtained my masters' in basic human psychiatry, I continued on, hoping to obtain an equivalent degree in xeno-physiology and interspecies psychiatry. I found it highly necessary, since I had a desire to work for Starfleet, which we all know comes into contact with an array of species from all walks of life. It was difficult, since the two are viewed as two different fields," Dr. Dehner says. Her face blossoms with her passion and interest in the subject. "In situations such as these, one could easily argue the psychological concept of the issue is as similar to something that could equally be viewed as something more cultural-based, making the physical act of it as the species' most basic form of instinct." Dr. Dehner smiles knowingly at the glazed looks she's given. "I know, I'm talking you all in circles, but just bear with me. What I'm saying is, this act could very well be innocent in nature. Now I know you all find that hard to believe but from their side of things—assuming that these are Romulans attacking the outposts—these are very standard actions.

"There are few species who do not believe there's anything wrong with killing outside of their own race. Therefore there is no guilt in the consciousness of the action. And to give you a clear picture of what I mean, just think of the African lioness. When she kills she kills without precedence and she is no respect of persons of any of those who she views as a general threat. She hunts for the good of her kingdom. The same could very well be said of Romulus. From our side of the post-war, we've gone through great efforts to maintain peace with Romulus. That doesn't mean that they have as well. It would be easy for us to assume that with each passing generation, there is a retelling of the Earth-Romulan War in their culture, as there are so easily assessable in our own memory banks. It's been more than ten decades since Romulans and humans have come into contact with one another, outside of Nero of course. I do not believe they are aware of what we look like, and further more, the ultimate repercussions of their actions." Dr. Dehner glances around before she looks to Jim. "Was that of any use Captain?"

Jim nods. "Your reminding us to try to view it from their perspective, which could prove useful in trying to figure this whole situation out." There are some murmurs of agreement that follows this statement.

Cupcake, who is lurking in a corner near the door with his arms cross and a firm frown, surprises everyone by saying, "Not the same ship though."

"What's not?" Jim asks, feeling a bit thrown by his statement.

Cupcake shifts under the weight of everyone's gaze but otherwise doesn't appear to be affected by all the attention. "The ship that's doing the attacking. Not the same ship as the one we've got to retrieve. Can't be. Small ship's got to be a decoy." He meets Jim eyes. "It's a simple and easily identifiable technique used by species of all types. We call it," he lifts his hands to do the air quotes, "_Basic Jurassic Park Scenario._"

Bones snorts and Jim joins him with an amused grin.

Everyone else, however, is heavily confused.

Jim glances around before she lifts her eyebrows at Cupcake. "Mind explaining what exactly that is to those of us who aren't as familiar with one of Earth's more famous cinematic classics."

Cupcake sighs and frowns disapprovingly at everyone sporting a confused look. "There's a scene in the movie where an expert hunter captures the young of the T-Rex. As we all know, Tyrannosaurus rex was one of the largest land carnivores of all time. Not the easiest to catch I imagine. So in order for this hunter to draw him out, he took its young and tied it to the ground, setting it in a moderately open space." Cupcake stops and makes a noncommittal gesture with his hand, looking more annoyed with the explanation itself rather than having to give one. "I'll put it to you like this. Make the baby cry and you've got a rampaging momma on your hands. And when she comes storming in, she's not gonna ask questions first."

A mutual expression of dawning sort of dominoes all across the room.

Jim has to admit that she's impressed with Cupcake's articulation. Maybe she should give him more credit. Maybe. Perhaps right after she's forgiven him for taking a brutal swing at her face with his cronies way back when.

"Cup—I mean, _Lieutenant Giotto_—is right," Jim says, ignoring the glare Cupcake is sending her way. "We all have to be prepared in the event that this—_unregistered "class J" vessel_—is just a small device in an even bigger plot."

Mitchell frowns. "And what exactly_ is_ the bigger plot?"

Spock answers, "In the event of Nero's demise, there has been an increasing elevation of tension and strain between Romulus and Earth. Though Nero clearly specified he was not of the Romulan Empire, Romulus still considered him as one of their own."

"They're not nearly as ready to let the issue go as politics would have you believe," Jim adds. "But what they won't tell you is that this is just another thorn added to an already festering wound. Not a lot people know that some years back, or to be specific, _four _years back, Romulus found itself in hot water with the Fleet because there had been a few allegations they were involved in some heavy slave trading. Nothing could be proved apparently, but the rumor was that Romulus would invest in the capture and trading of Andorian, Orion and human women and children, so that they in turn could be supplied with more advanced technology and weaponry systems."

"I think I might've heard of such a thing," Scotty says. "Caught on to a conversation between two Admirals back at the academy. Mentioned something along the lines of Romulus making clear indications by purchasing such weapons, showing it as a sign they've been spoiling for war and what have you."

"Wars and rumors of wars," Bones grumps. "Nothin' new there. I'd be willin' to bet my weight in credits that if they are, we'd be the last ones to know. We'd be better off chasing smoke. They ain't gonna let themselves be caught so easily if they have a fair hand at the element of surprise."

"Is accurate hypothesis," Chekov chimes. "I am thinking that vessel is slaver ship." Chekov circles his stylus and makes little arrows while connecting with the view screen so everyone can see his handy work. "Slaver ships are known to be small and have uncanny ability to cloak ship and stray from detection. They cannot go invisible, is not possible, but they are able to remain virtually indistinguishable."

Jim considers this quietly as her thoughts pinwheel.

"Mr. Chekov's right, Captain," Scotty says. "It's taken a bit for me to notice, but now that I do, I recognize the ship's infrastructure. Same as all cargo-welding vessels. Small, but good for carrying the necessary amount of weight without giving the engines too much trouble when having to travel such unfeasible distances."

All eyes sling forward and Jim bears the weight of every gaze in the room. She lowers her eyes to the half-finished cup of water as silence encases the room while they all await her reply. Jim inhales slowly as she contemplates her next move. This is a very grave situation. "We will continue with our mission," she decides and meets every gaze in the room. "We don't have anything besides theories to go off of. That alone isn't enough. Nevertheless, we should be prepared for any and all possibilities. It'll be a gamble, but we're going to have to go in and snag the bait." She then turns and faces the pictures on the view screen. "After all, we might get something useful out of said decoy. If the Romulans are after something specific, war or not, that vessel might be our only chance at finding out." She scrutinizes the picture a little longer before she says, "In the mean time, I want all decks on standby alert."

"Aye, Captain," is the unanimous response.

Jim spins on her heel and faces them all with a grin. "Great brainstorming guys, really. I'm going to have a lot to think about now. And if there's anything you happen upon or want to discuss, I want you to know that Mr. Spock and I are all ears. Anything will be useful at this point." She watches as they all nod. "Good. Dismissed."

Everyone who isn't already standing gathers to his or her feet. No one leaves right away; most linger to exchange a few words with one another.

Jim watches it all behind her cup of lukewarm water. Her eyes are drawn to one sight in particular.

Uhura and Spock are within close proximity of each other, and they are both looking down at their PADDs. Uhura points to Spock's PADD with a small smile and she says something that gets him to nod. Spock's mouth moves with his response and it causes Uhura to bring up her hand to dampen a joyful laugh. Spock mouth twitches with an almost smile as he rests one hand on the small of her back.

Jim's grip tightens around her cup, and she quickly spits the water back in, unable to ignore the bitter taste that develops in her mouth. She scrubs at mouth with the back of her hand as she sets the cup down.

"Spoiled water?" Mitchell says as he stands in close beside her.

Jim chuckles sullenly. "Something like that," she murmurs.

Mitchell hums noncommittally and eyes her with quiet intensity.

Jim clears her throat and straightens out while she wipes her hand dry against the hem of her uniform. "Anything I can help you with, Mitchell?"

Mitchell shakes his head while he crosses his arms and leans his hip casually against the edge of the table. "Just admiring the view," he replies casually, as though he were commenting on the weather.

Jim smiles wryly and faces him directly while she cocks her head. "Is that so?" She stares at him while he smirks and gazes back at her through lower lids. Smug bastard. "Mr. Mitchell, I'd be very careful of the things I'd say if I were you. One could—oh, I don't know—bring you up on harassment charges with such talking," she makes sure she keeps her voice low as she says this.

Mitchell feigns a considering look. "I suppose your right, Captain," he says, his voice an equally soft murmur. "I hope you'll accept my sincerest apologies, and hope you don't hold it against me if I should, say, extend a friendly invitation for some light conversation over a bottle back in my quarters."

Jim snorts at the mere audacity and glances off to the side, trying to think of the most effective way to tell him to fuck off. She is distracted, however, by the sight of Spock leaning into Uhura to whisper something into her ear, something that causes the most elated smile to cross Uhura's lips while her eyes go all soft and gooey.

A sickening feeling spirals in her gut and Jim has to internally stomp down on her jealousy like a spreading wildfire. "What kind of bottle?" she asks quietly, still watching them, unable to do anything but watch them.

"I suspect it's of the glass kind, but I could be wrong," Mitchell replies.

Jim makes a thoughtful sound before she forces her gaze in another direction. "That's not what I met and you know it." She looks at him as he grins almost impishly. He really is quite attractive. A drink couldn't hurt.

"Maybe, maybe not," Mitchell responds vaguely. "It's red wine. Nicely aged."

"Alright," Jim says before she can think better of it. "When our shift ends…" She doesn't say anymore than that. She lets her silence be evidence of her consent.

Mitchell seems to understand because he nods twice and leaves off.

Jim doesn't turn around; she can feel Bones glaring at her suspiciously. She just quietly gathers her things and flees with as much dignity she can muster. She can be virtually fearless about most things, but if she had to choose when it came to Bones and his soul-sucking lectures, she'd rather run like a coward and have him chase her down.

One thing is remarkably clear.

Bones does _not_ approve of Mitchell.

That in itself, should be enough of a sign.

But since when has Jim ever heeded those?

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253 **

**AMBASSADOR S'CHN T'GAI SAREK VIA CALIFORNIA, EARTH**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_James,_

_I felt a most disconcerting disturbance disrupting my mental shields. You will contact me at once and explain. I strongly advise your promptness. I will await your communication._

_Sarek _

888

Red wine, hands down, is Jim's favorite wine.

There are things that the drink can do for her that no other alcoholic beverage can. The blood colored wine has appealing intoxicating effects on Jim, that can make her feel like she's in her right mind while also allowing her to feel virtually weightless. And she does feel weightless. As weightless as clouds, as light and thin as the morning dew and centered, so centered. Even as she lies on her back atop of Mitchell's bed, blinking slowly up at the ceiling with an elated smile, she feels right.

Like the morning sun.

Like the rain that falls after a dry season.

Like the summer breeze that hits during the hottest peak of the day.

Like that perfect little squiggle that separates ying from yang.

Jim turns her head and blinks at Mitchell who is lying on his side, head propped with his hand, staring down at her. His green eyes are drinking her in greedily like a hungry wolf coveting his captured prey. She can't remember the last time she was on the other end of such a gaze. She wishes Spock would look at her like that, wishes he would look at her like anything except hate, except judgment, except hurt.

Jim frowns, unsure if she really is frowning, her body is heavy with this feeling of elation, this feeling of floating. She wishes she could feel this way all the time. Her eyes are drawn to Mitchell again, he's still watching her, always watching her, and she wonders if he can feel it too, this weightlessness. She lifts her hand and slides her fingertips down Mitchell's perfect nose and around his perfect lips. His face has such perfect symmetry; photographers usually eat that kind of stuff up. She sighs wistfully and thinks about how he could have been a model. Instead he's right here, right now, right beside her, looking at her like he wants to eat her, wants inside of her, wants the very essence of her.

Jim drops her hand to his silk sheets and turns her head towards the ceiling again. She blinks and blinks, all she's doing is blinking, and she tries to remember how she got here, in this room, on this bed. Hazy thoughts filter in. These thoughts swirl together until they become one, big, giant, thought. Thoughts of how she couldn't stop thinking of that moment she witnessed between Uhura and Spock, thoughts of the pain she saw in his eyes when she spoke those damnable words to him, thoughts of wanting to forget it all, thoughts of maybe giving Mitchell a chance, thoughts of avoiding Sarek because he obviously could sense something was wrong, thoughts of avoiding Bones on the same level, and thoughts of other thoughts until she's found herself following Mitchell back to his quarters and downing her seventh (full) glass of red wine, sending her staggering over to his bed with him following closely on her heels. When she remembers this, albeit dazedly, she no longer has to wonder how it got to this point.

As she feels Mitchell's fingertips brushing against the small hairs of her arm, she thinks about her ship, her beautiful ship; a ship that seems to understand her better than anything or anyone else. It's a ship that supplies her with endless curiosities, and childlike wonder. A ship that makes her feels as if she belong, as if she finally has a place to call home, causing any thoughts about the end of the five years that come after to hang over her head like a dark and depressing cloud.

Mitchell's fingers are gliding over her shoulder.

Jim doesn't know why, but she starts thinking about how pretty Uhura is, starts thinking about how smart she is, how amazing it must be for anyone lucky enough to call the dark-skinned beauty their own. Jim deserves to be jealous; Uhura really is a force to be reckoned with. Hell, the mere fact that she was able to coax Spock into a relationship says enough about her capability on that frontier. This makes her think about the bond. Their bond. She can see it in her mind, as well as feel it, because every time she thinks about those two together, it wraps tightly around her brain like a tangible thread of—_pain, rejection, **loneliness**_.

Mitchell's hand is sliding along the side of her neck and around to the back of her head.

Jim wishes in that moment that she could view the bond the way Prime Spock and Sarek can. They both have this undoubting, unshakeable faith that things—or fate—will rectify the situation, pushing Spock and her together like they were supposedly destined to be. But how can that be when there have been more things pushing them apart than pressing them together? Her mouth has definitely fucked any possibilities right out the window. Not that she's rooting for them to get together, of course not, that's ridiculous. Spock is clearly happy with Uhura and who was she to try and sabotage that? He deserved every bit of happiness that he got.

But what did Jim deserve?

Mitchell's hand is lifting her head and their lips meet for the first time. His other hand rises and cradles her cheek as he angles his head into the kiss, trying to coax her interest, but Jim is so far gone in her own thoughts that she can't even pretend that she's into it. This goes on for another two minutes, and it's almost (okay it is) pathetic how Mitchell is trying his hardest to get her to kiss him back, but she doesn't, because she can't do anything more than lie there like a dead fish. Mitchell's done good by seducing her with red wine, the problem is that he was too generous with it and didn't have enough sense to stop her after the eleventh glass—or was it the thirteenth?

Mitchell sighs against her lips in obvious disappointment when it seems to finally dawn on him and he pulls back to gaze at her with harsh scrutiny.

Jim blinks, perhaps a tad too deliberately, right back at him.

Mitchell must see something he doesn't like because his pretty face is twisting into a dissatisfied frown.

Jim just continues to lie there, clutching his silk sheets in hopes she can prevent herself from floating away.

Mitchell's green eyes darken thoughtfully. "We're not going to have sex are we?" he asks rather bluntly.

Jim stares at him before she laughs sharply and pats him on the cheek. "Mitch—can I call you Mitch?" She pauses to put a hand to her chest and swallows. Her stomach sloshes when she sits up and puts her hands on his shoulders. "The moment you stepped on my ship, you basically signed an invisible contract with me that says we aren't going to be sleeping together."

Mitchell's expression falls rather flat. It's just a tad bit humorous. You'd think Jim had just declared war on fun.

"Maybe if we'd met before—well, I guess we _have _met before, and you could have had me then, I was throwing out the right signals, but you walked away—then things could've been different," Jim goes on to say. "I appreciate the wine though, you don't know how much, I mean you did that part right. So brownie points, but as for the rest," Jim makes a weird, messy gesture towards her body and his. "Not going to happen."

"But—"

"Not. Going. To. Happen." Jim says firmly and squeezes his shoulder with a pointed look. "Now if you don't mind," she slurs and stands—stumbles—to her feet. "I am going to retreat back to the safety of my own quarters," she pauses to swallow again, and again, and once more for good measure while she presses a hand to her churning stomach. "Where I hope to throw up every meal I've ever eaten for the past two years, and hopefully pass out on my bed." She gives him a poor excuse for a salute and makes her way to his door.

"I don't give up so easily," Mitchell says, a strange light in his green eyes. "I hope you know this wont be any different."

"You can try," Jim mutters, blinking at him still before she swallows and turns away. "Stay pretty, Mitch." She stumbles a bit into the corridor and walks in what she hopes is the direction of her quarters. Jim tries not to stagger too much; she really doesn't need her crew to think any less of her.

It's only by some weird luck that she finds her way back easily, or doesn't run into anyone along the way. It isn't until after she's done yacking up the lining in her intestines into the toilet and fumbling her way to her bed, does she realize that she's spent the past several hours with Mitchell. It's nearing midnight, that's what the computer says, and Jim isn't trying to think about how upset Sarek will be when she decides to stop being a coward and actually talk to him.

As Jim sails into the world of dreams, a strange thought occurs to her.

It's April Fool's Day.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253 **

**LIEUTENANT ROBERT L TOMLINSON VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

** CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Captain,_

_I need to ask a big favor of you. _

_I was wondering if you could marry my fiancée and I this Saturday? I realize it's a bit sudden, but well, at this point it's out of our hands. Angela's expecting and we're anxious to make it official._

_We would certainly appreciate it._

_Regards,_

_RLT_

888

"I don't know the first thing about marriage," Jim announces quite suddenly. She's in the Mess having lunch with Chekov, and graciously steering clear of Bones. "I mean, isn't that a must when it comes to these things?"

Chekov nods sympathetically as he takes a sizeable bite from his tuna sandwich.

Jim twirls her fork around a salad she never intended on really eating. "I would think that they'd want someone who knew just a smidge about these things. I've never even been to a wedding. I have no idea what goes on outside of what I've seen in vids. Which isn't much to go by. At all."

"Keptin, is rather simple," Chekov says after he swallows. "You talk about love, get them to exchange vows with the 'I love you' and 'I promise to always' and then you must ask if anyone is objecting and if no one is, then you announce them as husband and wife."

Jim pushes her tray away and cocks her head. "You make it sound so easy. There's got to be more to it than that."

"If there is, I am not knowing about it," Chekov replies with a shrug. "If you want, I can research?"

Jim shakes her head and carelessly waves her hand. "That's not necessary. I'd rather research it myself, but I appreciate the thought. You're doing enough for me already by just letting me freak out in front of you."

Chekov sports a rather cute frown. "Freak out?" he repeats with unconcealed confusion. "Excuse me, Keptin, but I do not think you are understanding this."

"Oh?" Jim smiles indulgently. "Do tell."

"I have cousin in Russia who freaks out. He has, how you say, the anxiety attacks. When this happens, he will run naked through local village until he passes out. That is freaking," Chekov says, quite sincerely as he continues to scarf down the rest of his food.

Jim laughs. "Well you got me there," she admits. "Compared to that, I must be as calm as a canary."

Chekov nods rather distractedly before he chugs down a tall glass of water. "Ah," he sighs when the glass is empty. "I think you will be fine, Keptin." He stands with this tray. "If you will excuse me, I have date with Hikaru in twenty minutes."

Jim leans forward with a grin and a raised brow. "Date?"

Chekov suddenly looks flustered. "Nyet! What I meant to say is—"

"I'm only teasing you," Jim quickly assures. "Honestly I wont say anything to anyone. I'm not surprised you two are comming one another. Or is it still called sexting?"

"Keptin," Chekov says as he fidgets, looking as red as a cherry. "It is not like that. I wish—" he cuts himself short to mutter a Russian swear. Then he takes a calming breath. "It is not like that," he finishes.

"Uh-huh," Jim props her chin on top of her fist. "You just wait, Pasha. You just wait." Then she straightens. "Now run along, I'll find some new company."

Chekov nods and lingers a little longer. "Thank you, Keptin," and he's quickly scurrying away before Jim can reply.

Jim chuckles and shakes her head fondly just as a shadow falls over her from the right. She tilts her head up and squints her eyes, sighing in relief when isn't Bones…or Mitchell…or Spock. Geez, how many people was she avoiding again? "What can I do for you Cupcake?" Jim says as she looks down and drags her salad back over in a last attempt to eat.

Cupcake moves around the table and plops down in the seat across from her. "You can start by calling me by my given surname, _Moonbeam,_" he replies gruffly.

"Ah, but what would be the fun in that? We've got too much history together," Jim points out as she shoves a forkful of lettuce and tomato into her mouth.

Cupcake snorts. "I'm willing to let bygones be bygones," he says with an almost casual shrug.

Jim chews with a frown. "And what brought on this change of heart?"

"The way I see it," Cupcake says. "Is that we have five years together. And maybe it might not mean anything now, but I'm sorry for being a dick the first time we met."

Jim chokes and pounds at her chest as she wheezes. "Are you trying to kill me!" she rasps while Cupcake watches her closely with concerned amusement. "Springing an apology on me like that, _fuck_." She coughs and took a few careful sips of her lemonade.

"Does that mean you accept my apology?" Cupcake retorts with a small grin.

Jim sets her cup down as she clears her throat. "Yeah, I mean, why not? You're right, we do have five more years together—though at anytime you could have requested a transfer—I suppose I'd rather have the head of my security on my side rather than not." She narrows her eyes questioningly at him. "Why didn't you ask for a transfer?"

Cupcake shrugs his big shoulders. "I may never have liked you, but I wasn't stupid. You know what you're doing, and you seem like you trust my judgment, even when we didn't get on. I respect you for that. I just—respect you," he admits. His face is a little pink and Jim can tell it's taking him a whole hell of a lot to confess what he really thinks out loud.

Jim nods slowly after awhile. "Thanks. Same here," she replies. "But I refuse to stop calling you Cupcake. I mean I wont do it in the presence of others or when it really matters."

Cupcake sighs and stands. "Figured you wouldn't," he retorts. "Catch you around."

"Possibly. I am the captain after all," Jim says with smile. She watches as he gives a mock salute, and then exits the Mess. Jim's left by herself once more, and she grudgingly finishes her salad just so she can just say she's eaten and move on to more important matters.

Like figuring out a way to appeal to Sarek's better nature, because she's beginning to cave.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**LIEUTENANT ROBERT L TOMLINSON OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Robert,_

_I would be honored._

_And if you change your mind and want to nominate someone else as the officiator at any time, I would completely understand._

_I may have no idea how to go about all this, but I can learn. Would it be a good idea to get together beforehand? I'd like to meet you two sometime before we all stand at that altar together._

_Best wishes,_

_JTK_

888

Thursday finds Jim in the Captain's Ready Room, working up the nerve to call Sarek like she'd promised herself she would do two days ago. It'd been quite easy to hold it off as long as possible because she's got a multitude of projects holding her attention. She spends hours off-duty researching all there is to know about weddings—what can she say—she's a stickler for perfection. She does have the pressure of not ruining someone's special day weighing her down. Then there's the whole SS Valiant situation. Not to mention the time she spends pouring over research about Romulan war ships, which, by the way, has very little information to them. Well, if you don't count all the descriptions from the Earth-Romulan War. But that's from a hundred years ago and Jim is sure their designs have changed since then. It's just that Jim could really use the tactical advantage if worst comes to worst.

Jim groans and plops her head down on the edge of the conference table. An oncoming headache is threatening to spoil her concentration. Before she allows that to happen, she just goes ahead and opens up a link of communication to Earth. It's barely noon, and Jim is only a little hopeful that Sarek is already preoccupied.

Sarek appears across the view screen only seconds later, answering the question of whether or not he was busy.

"James," Sarek's voice is riddled with disapproval. "You have been avoiding me."

Jim winces and lifts her head. "Only a little?"

Sarek is not pleased. His silence is telling.

Jim sighs and sits up fully. "Okay. So I have. And I'm sorry," she says. "You're a bit intimidating, and what I have to say isn't very—" she pauses to find the words. "Tactful."

"You are unwell. Mentally and physically, this is enough cause for concern," Sarek says as his gaze intensifies. "You will explain."

Jim fidgets. "I will," she agrees. "But you might find yourself thinking a little less of me."

"Illogical," is Sarek's snap response. "I am aware of your more disagreeable qualities. My perspective remains unaffected."

Vulcan Translation: _I've seen both sides of you and my opinion isn't changing anytime soon._

Jim sighs and isn't entirely convinced, but she might as well get this over with because he will most likely not let it go until she does. So she dives in, "I went to Spock's quarters because I'd just retrieved a mission assignment and I might have panicked slightly about it but Spock is usually logical when it comes to these things so I figured he'd definitely have some valuable input on the matter and he did, pointing out my lack of following protocol by contacting the bridge with our coordinates, and I would have, I would, but he just beat me to the punch line—"

"James."

"—and of course that just made things uncomfortable but I was willing to overlook it to focus on more important things and I just asked him about another project that I was having him look into and then that led to a completely peaceful discussion, and when that was all said and done, I turned to leave, do you understand? I was getting ready to go and he made this snarky little comment, which yeah, he's entitled to his privacy, and it really wasn't appropriate of me to come in without his permission or an invitation but he doesn't have to _tell _me not to—"

"James."

"—okay, maybe he does, but I don't like to be talked down to like that and try to understand it's just my rebellious nature that made me mention something involving emotions, and he denies it, he's Vulcan, you guys will deny possessing feelings to the death, and you know, I might have called him a liar. That's offensive, I understand, but he made this berating comment about how all humans are liars and I'm just standing there thinking about how he's half-human, so he must have told the occasional white lie, that doesn't make anyone anything less than what they are but he made it seem like it does and then I said something about his high and mighty attitude—"

"James."

"—and Uhura got thrown in the mix, and I hate to even have to say this, to even have to admit this, but I'm fucking jealous, and I'm fucking upset because I'm fucking jealous—pardon my language—but it's confusing because I don't want Spock like that, or, I don't know, I don't think I want him like that, and maybe I do, who knows? Jealousy is no excuse for what I did next, which was taunt him for being half-human and accusing of him of having bad blood, which has to be the most heartless thing I could possibly—"

"James," Sarek voice raises just a fraction.

Jim blinks to awareness and turns the attention of her gaze away from her hands, which are wringing the hem of dress tightly, and up to Sarek's calm gaze. "Err—yes?"

Sarek doesn't say anything right away, but after two beats of silence, he says, "Contrition is illogical."

Jim gapes. That's it? That's all he had to say on the matter?

Sarek is not blind to this reaction. "You assumed I would reprimand you," he deducts. "I gather this is the reason for your cowardice?"

"Hey!" Jim cries. "Now that's not very polite, Sarek. I've got every reason to be afrai—I mean—_wary_ of you," she argues.

"Indeed?" Sarek quirks an eyebrow. "Are you able to provide an example?"

Jim opens her mouth because she absolutely has some kind of example to give. Only she totally doesn't, and now she's sitting there with her mouth open, no doubt looking like an idiot. Sarek has been nothing but nice—well—assuming this is how a nice Vulcan acts.

"You appear to have nothing to offer. Or are you merely contemplating?" Sarek questions evenly.

Jim crosses her arms and narrows her eyes suspiciously. "You're teasing me."

"Certainly not, James," Sarek says, but that's definitely humor in his dark eyes.

"Hm," Jim decides to leave it alone. "So why aren't you appalled by what I said to your son?"

"Your anxiety is unwarranted," Sarek simply says. "There will be times you disagree with Spock and he, in turn, will oppose your views on a given subject. Debating with your bondmate is expected."

Vulcan Translation: _When you're in a relationship, you're bound to bump heads. This isn't anything to freak out over._

Sarek goes on to ask, "Have you made an indication of your remorse?"

Jim sighs and combs her blonde bangs from her eyes. "I did—I've tried—but I don't think he wanted to hear any of it."

"He will need time," Sarek resolves. "He possesses his mother's temper. He will need time."

Jim smiles sadly with nod and folds her hands over her stomach while she leans back in her chair. She feels better about the situation now, and a bit sleepy.

"You are fatigued," Sarek observes. "As well as overwrought."

Jim frowns tiredly. "Stress is apart of the job," she replies with a careless shrug. "It's bound to happen, I'm a captain."

"You are human," Sarek corrects. "And you require the proper amount of rest and nutrition. Even as captain, you are permitted time to set aside for your peace of mind."

Jim has nothing to say to that because she knows he is right.

"I will leave you to retire," Sarek announces. "James, I must stress the importance of Spock's knowledge of the bond. His neglect, even in it's unconsciousness, is unhealthy for the both of you."

"I understand," Jim says, and she does. "I'll—try."

Sarek doesn't look too pleased with her answer but he doesn't pry. "Very well." He lifts his hand for a farewell. "Peace and long life, James."

Jim echoes the gesture. "And to you as well."

The screen goes blank.

Jim is left alone to her own thoughts.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CMO LEONARD H. MCCOY VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Jimmy,_

_Why don't you be a big girl and stop avoiding me._

_Don't Make Me Hunt You Down,_

_McCoy_

888

A nap is out of the question when Jim remembers that she promised to meet Robert and his fiancée to discuss their plans for the wedding ceremony. Which is why she's standing in the observation lounge, waiting for them both to arrive so they could sit down and talk. As she stands there, facing the windows, she can't help but to admire the sight of the stars blinking past as the ship maintains warp. She crosses her arms and holds on by the elbows as she thinks about when she was younger. How long ago was it when she lie on the rooftop of Frank's house, stargazing? She used to look up at the stars, wishing to be apart of them and now she was. She was sailing across the galaxy in one of the greatest man-made ships and it was all hers. She is living her dream.

"Captain?"

Jim blinks away her idle recollections and turns to face the voice. She's met with the sight of a six foot, olive skinned male with dark blue eyes. He has his arm around a petite brunette with short-cropped hair and honey brown eyes.

They smile at her.

Jim realizes she's being rude. "I'm sorry—I'm staring," she admits with a small laugh as she offers her hand. "Robert and Angela, right?" They nod and shake the hand she offers to the both of them. She spends the next moment staring at them a little bit longer. "Gosh, I'm sorry," she laughs again. "I just can't help it, I'm sorry, I know I'm staring but—you have to be the most attractive couple I've ever met."

Robert grins shyly as Angela blushes.

"Oh I bet you say that to all the couples you marry," Angela says, flattered.

Jim snorts. "I'm being genuine, and you'd be the first couple I'll have married," she says, gesturing to the table to their right. They all take a seat. "So, Robert says you two are expecting."

Angela smiles and nods as she grabs Robert's hand. "Yes, I know it isn't noticeable right now, but I'm about two months along," she explains as she leans into him. Robert kisses her temple and drapes his arm across her shoulder.

Jim nods while she folds her hands over the table. "That is going to be one genetically blessed kid," she says.

Robert smiles. "We just hope for perfect health," he says as Angela gives an agreeing nod.

"And you're down to earth? Stop, I can't take it," Jim jokes with a grin.

Robert and Angela chuckle. "Thank you," they say simultaneously.

Jim smiles and leans forward. "So," she starts. "Plans?"

Angela says, "Nothing complicated. We honestly just want to keep it fairly simple and quiet." She looks at Robert. "We were thinking just a handful of our closest friends."

Robert nods. "And we were hoping we could have the ceremony here, which is why we asked you to meet us here," he adds and hugs Angela closer. "We figured it has an efficient amount of space and also," he pauses to point at the display screen on the other side of the room. "Since our family can't join us on ship, we thought we could have a vid conference so they can still be a part of it all."

Angela hastily adds, "That is, if it's okay with you."

"Of course! I agree one hundred percent with whatever you both decide you want to do. I think it's a good idea having your families involved that way since they can't physically be here," Jim says with an encouraging smile.

Robert and Angela beam.

"Anything else?" Jim asks.

"We'd like to have the reception here as well," Angela says.

Jim nods.

"Other than that, there really isn't anything else," Robert says.

Angela smiles and says, "And you don't have to worry about anything other than meeting us on the day of. We'll worry about the food and the invitations and the decorating."

"My part's fairly easy then," Jim grins.

"We really do appreciate this," Robert's voice is sincere. "This means a lot."

"You don't know how grateful we are," Angela adds.

Jim waves her hand carelessly. "Think nothing of it. I'm pretty sure I know what to do," she jokes. "What's important to me is that everything is as you want it to be."

"We're fairly certain it will be, but we're always prepared for those curveballs life can throw," Robert replies, moving his hand to Angela's stomach. "You never really know until it happens."

"True," Jim agrees softly. "So how did you two meet?"

Robert and Angela begin the highly animated tale of how they've known each other since kindergarten. Angela explains how it was love at first sight for her, but she's not so sure the same could have been said of Robert. Robert admits that he didn't think much of Angela at the time. Angela rolls her eyes fondly and claims that she knew they were destined to be together. She wasn't able to convince Robert until freshmen year in high school. Robert goes on to explain how most of their family and friends didn't really believe they'd end up together. They had less in common with each other than they had more. Angela smiles and says it just works for them. Robert agrees saying that when you know, you just know, nothing else really matters at that point.

"It's a bumpy road," Angela goes on to say. "But then again it'd be pretty easy to give up on each other if everything was right and perfect and boring."

"That's the beauty of opposites, I guess," Robert adds, rubbing his hand up and down her back. "You kind of realize that they are everything you aren't and vice versa. You both grow to learn that it's supposed to be that way."

"Even day has its night," Angela says as she kisses Robert on the cheek.

Robert leans in and whispers something in her ear and she grows pink and swats at him. He grins back and kisses her on the lips.

Jim is enthralled by the sight. She's always been fascinated in hearing couples talk about how they got together, why they got together and why they've stayed together. If anyone would ever ask her why, she'd have nothing to offer as an explanation. It's just another one of her quirks.

"Do you have any names picked out?" Jim asks, dropping her chin on top of her propped fist.

Robert just looks to Angela who smiles and says, "Not exactly. He seems to find every name I suggest awful."

"Oh don't even try that," Robert protests. "There were a few that I liked."

Angela gives Jim a meaningful look as she holds up two fingers. "Two. He's responded positively to two."

Jim chuckles.

"I'm pretty sure it was more than that," Robert argues. "I—"

"There you are!"

They all turn their heads to the source of the voice.

It's Bones. He's standing akimbo in the doorway and he looks pissed.

"Bones—" Jim stands and holds up her hands as a sign of surrender while he storms over.

Bones quickly interjects, "Save it, Kid. You've avoided me long enough. I've been reduced to trackin' you down like some damn blood houn—"

"Bones!" Jim glares. "I'm in the _middle _of something," she hisses, then slides her eyes over in the direction of the quietly amused couple.

Bones frowns and spares them a small glance.

"Robert and Angela, I'd like you to meet my apparently livid CMO. He goes by Len McCoy," Jim says gesturing to her scowling friend. "Len McCoy, this is the couple I'll be marrying Saturday, Robert and Angela."

Bones stops scowling long enough to look embarrassed. "Ah—pardon me, I didn't realize—"

"Oh no that's fine," Angela assures. "Robert and I acted something of the same way when we first started dating. Didn't we honey?"

"Completely," Robert agrees.

Bones splutters and goes red as Jim snickers. Just to punish him, she wraps an arm around his waist and pats his stomach fondly. "I'm told we bicker just like an old married couple," she says, feigning a thoughtful expression.

Bones whips his head down and glares at her.

"At least you'll have no surprises when you hit that milestone," Robert chuckles, rising to his feet.

"That's what I tell him," Jim says with a shrug.

Angela grabs the hand Robert offers and stands to her feet. "I think we pretty much covered the basics here. We're going to get going. The little one is yanking my appetite," she says putting a hand to her stomach.

Jim nods as Bones reaches out to shake Robert's hand and offering them the congratulations that is due.

Robert and Angela leave with one last smile and thanks.

"Well," Jim says, breaking the silence. "That's quite an impression you made, Bones. I'm pretty sure they think my boyfriend is an asshole."

Bones scowls and eases her grip from his waist. "Oh so they've met Spock have they?" he retorts snidely.

Jim responds by punching him in his bicep. Hard.

"_Goddamn it,_ _Jim!_ What'd I say about hittin' me?" Bones snarls as he pinches her side.

"_Ouch!_ Fuck you, Bones! You had it coming," Jim whines as she rubs at her tender side.

"You'd better correct them if they ever ask, Kid. Don't need no rumors like that spreadin'," Bones says as he plops himself down in a seat.

Jim frowns and puts her hands on her hips. "What are you getting so worked up about? Who cares if they think we're together. Its funny to me."

"Yeah well I don't find it humorous at all," Bones snaps. "I'm bein' serious here, Jim."

Jim scoffs and crosses her arms. "Your just worried _Christine_ will find out and it'll confirm her already ridiculous preconceived notions," she points out.

Bones grumbles, "Never mind what Chapel thinks. It's bad show, period. I don't need people thinkin' I got this job because I gave you a good dicking."

Jim chokes and shoves at his shoulder. "Bones! Watch your mouth you southern bastard." She sits down with a frown. "And anyway, is it so bad if people thought we were together? I can't be so bad that you'd even find a fake relationship so horrifying," she mutters, picking at the hem of her uniform dress.

Bones narrows his eyes at her before something dawns across his expression. "Ah Christ—" he mutters. "Your offended."

Jim glares.

Bones rolls his eyes. "I didn't mean it like that, darlin'," he consoles.

"Shut up, don't call me that. You can't sweet-talk me out of being mad at you. I'll be mad at you for as long as I want," Jim says rather petulantly.

Bones scoffs. "Course you can," he replies sarcastically.

Jim goes on glaring.

Bones sighs. "Jim, really, I'm mostly thinking of your reputation than mine. I didn't mean that it'd be the worst thing to be in a pretend relationship with you."

Jim sniffs grudgingly and unfolds her arms. "Don't say it like that. I sound like an immature, needy little asshole when you put it that way," she says. "Pretty girls like to feel wanted too, you know."

Bones nods with mock sympathy. "Don't worry, Jim, you're still the fairest of them all, and there's not a soul who can resist those two beautiful blues."

"Oh really, Bones? You really think so," Jim says, cupping her hands together and batting her lashes dramatically. "You are ever so kind," she continues with the sorriest try at an English accent known to man.

Bones winces and waves his hand vaguely.

Jim chuckles and scoots herself over into his lap. "Now," she begins, ignoring his squirming and muttered curses. "You should know that I didn't sleep with Mitchell."

"Thank God for that," Bones mumbles.

"Uh-huh," Jim says. "I'm sure you're real relieved to know my virtue is still intact."

"Surely, at last, I shall sleep peacefully tonight," Bones replies sarcastically. He shifts under her and says, "Something's off about the man, Kid. I don't trust him. I don't trust him with _you_."

Jim pats the top of his head. "Don't worry Papa McCoy, I am a big girl and I—"

"Have already let him scam you into having dinner with him," Bones interjects.

"Let's get one thing straight," Jim says as she points her finger in his face. "We did not have dinner." Two beats, then, "He got me drunk."

Bones goes completely still under her. "He…did what now?" his voice is dangerously calm.

Jim has to rethink any reply she was about to give. "Uh—Bones? Remember how I said we didn't sleep together? Yeah. We didn't sleep together."

Bones becomes silent.

This worries Jim. "And I wasn't really drunk, _per se_," she adds. "Heavily tipsy maybe is a more accurate description."

Bones maintains his silence.

"And I told him straight out that I wouldn't sleep with him," Jim goes on to say. "He didn't go for it, but he'll get the picture eventually." She shrugs and glances down at Bones. He's staring straight ahead likes he's been petrified by Medusa herself. "Bones, seriously, say something. You're kind of freaking me out."

Bones exhales slowly, like he's summoning all the patience he can muster. "Jim," he starts and then stops himself short. He looks like he's weighing several different responses. After a minute or so he just shakes his head with a sigh. "I'd ask you to keep the hell away from him, but knowing you, that most likely isn't gonna be possible. So I'll just ask that you be careful. Somethin' ain't all the way straight with Mitchell, if you catch my meaning. And I'd rather not commit murder on this ship if he does anything unsavory to you."

"I'll be fine," Jim replies softly, hugging him close. "You worry too much, Bones."

Bones grudgingly hugs back. "With you, I have to. Can't be helped."

Jim nods wordlessly and pulls back far enough to dig out a folded piece of paper from the inside of her boot. "You know what I've learned. If you really want an accurate depiction of yourself, get a child to draw you." She unfolds the paper and presents it to Bones.

Bones lifts an eyebrow and accepts it. A few minutes of silence pass before he breaks it by letting out an amused snort. "And who's the artist?"

Jim smiles. "My brother drew me and my sisters just added all the color and the glitter," she explains.

Bones continues to eye it before he hands it back over. "Well they nailed you," he says.

Jim folds it back up and returns it to the inside of her boot. "I thought so too," she agrees. "I've got tons more of these uncanny drawings back in my quarters if you want to see." She stands and flattens out the wrinkles in her uniform dress.

"Only if you promise to eat whatever I put in front of you because knowin' you, you've skipped a few meals," Bones says as he stands beside her.

Jim face twists in displeasure. "You're going to make me eat some kind of beef aren't you?"

"I wont make you do anything," Bones disputes. "I'll just stick you with a few hypos. I'm thinkin' two or three oughta be sufficient enough in rectifyin' any nutritional deficiencies. After that you can eat just about anything you want."

Jim glowers.

"Your choice," Bones declares.

Jim spends the next few minutes weighing her options. It's clear to her what she should do. "No steak," she mutters and stomps off.

Bones chuckles and whistles pleasantly as he follows.

Jim knows its his way of paying her back for whatever hell she's put him through lately.

It's completely unfair how well he's able to do that.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_I have no idea how I'm doing with this because most of you refuse to comment. You know, no pressure or anything, but any kind of feedback helps. Help me out here guys, tell me what you think._

_FEEDBACK KEEPS WRITER'S BLOCK AT BAY._

_Show me some love and please comment._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

When Spock was in his youth, he took great pleasure in sitting out on the veranda every night after dinner. A feeling akin to the very feeling he got after a successful completion of mediation, always enclosed him as he sat among his mother's potted earth plants and stared up at the cloudless night sky. The stars, although infinite in number and outwardly alike, would differ from time to time, depending on Vulcan's trajectory that evening. Spock was rather fond of this fact, for it gave him the advantage of a new view every night. Spock spent this time composing and framing a number of star charts in his mind so that he could subsequently reassess them as he settled down for sleep. There was a peace he found in this nightly ritual.

It was a most curious habit he could not break.

There were times when his father would join him, if only for a moment, before he returned inside. They never exchanged words during those moments, but the silence was enough of a communication. In the quiet, Spock felt his father's unvoiced approval, even though most of his actions portrayed the opposite. Spock suspected that it was his way of showing a vested interest in his own son, even when it seemed they could never find grounds on which to find an understanding of each other.

Then there were those times when his mother would join him. She often possessed one of her many earth books, and she would read aloud to him, even when he had not asked. His mother always acted most curiously, but Spock found it was what he relished the most about her. She behaved in ways that his people found to be distasteful. She had courage; courage that he coveted her for when he frequently found himself facing adversaries who wanted to question his mixed heritage with cruel verbal jibes. But temper and brute strength continuously won out over the bravery to walk away, and he would be left explaining his actions yet again to his disappointed father.

Spock repeatedly found himself wondering why his mother chose to leave a home she's known for a world full of a race that was unlikely to accept her based on her ancestries.

One night, when he could no longer contain his pondering silence, he waited for his mother to join him on the veranda. She would place her chair directly beside his own; Spock calculated that this would give him exactly three minutes to state his inquiry, and sure enough, before she could begin her retelling of the human girl who tumbled down the rabbit hole, he asked.

She had given no response at first as she sat beside him while her small hands cradled the weathered book. Spock had suspected she was giving thought to her answer, and so he waited patiently. The wind swept past them and carried with it his mother's unique scent. She always smelled of flowers and the pages of the earth books she kept. Spock found great comfort in this.

His mother had smiled while she squinted her brown eyes at him with a great deal of humor. "You make it sound as if it was a difficult thing to do, Spock."

"Was it not?"

His mother had chuckled and Spock could not see what she found so amusing. She often laughed at the things he and his father said even if the words had not been to jest.

"Oh Spock," she murmured and lifted her hand to his cheek. Spock leaned into that cool palm, and studied the contours of his mother's mouth as her lips stretched into a small smile. "You are so curious about everything, but you need not question this one thing. I loved your father very much, you see, and so when we left, I didn't mourn leaving behind my home planet. You and your father are my world now, and wherever you two shall be, that is where I am. After all, home is where the heart is. There's no doubt to whom my heart belongs." With that said, she pulled back and resumed her reading.

Spock had pondered her words silently as she did so and carried his gaze up into the stars as though he would find an answer there. He had not. He would not understand her words until long after when she was gone and Vulcan had fallen. Spock frequently found himself revisiting his mother's words. Everything that he had ever known had been lost in the suction of fire and space and time. If home was where the heart is, than was his heart lost as well? It was a troubling thought, and no amount of meditation or contemplation ever provided him with the answers he sought. There was something missing, and it had little to do with the loss of his home planet, or his mother or his staggering relationship with Nyota. A relationship that, despite both their better efforts, was failing quickly because neither could provide the contentment their intimacy should have brought.

"Spock?"

Spock blinks into awareness, pressing his contemplation back for a more appropriate time. His posture straightens and he refocuses his attention to his immediate left where Nyota is gazing at him with questioning eyes. "Forgive me, Nyota, I am being exceptionally rude," he says and watches as she smiles. "You were saying?"

Nyota's smile dampens into a grin as she motions with a graceful hand to the potted plant in front of them. "I said that I think it might be a good idea to move the _dan-pid-mashen_. It's slumping," she points out, running a graceful hand under one of the large leaves.

Spock considers the plant and quietly notices that it is, indeed, slumping. The fault is solely his own. Yet he is unwilling to admit his neglect because he suspects that Nyota will be displeased. After all, it is she who gifted him with it when they first initiated their courting. She had enthusiastically explained that she had purchased the Vulcan plant from an authentic inter-species floral shop in the heart of San Francisco. She had said that when she spotted the plant she knew she had to get it for him. Nyota had claimed to know what it felt like being so far from home from the things you love, and that having a piece of home eases the difficultly.

Spock had been too fascinated with the confident Xenolinguistic at the time to correct her error. The _dan-pid-mashen_, was an Earth grown plant, though the seeds were produced from Vulcan. On Vulcan the _dan-pid-mashen_ was considered a bothersome weed that, when sprouted, devoured and ravaged all coinciding vegetation. Vulcans had never given the incommodious weed a name, but the humans had seemed to take it upon themselves to label the plant based on it's time of growth. The weed could not grow on Earth soil as frequently as it had on Vulcan, but only sprouted when the sun and the moon and the earth were in perfect alignment. It is a time that Vulcans have labeled as _dan-pid-mashen_: the spring tide.

A curious name for such a weed. Humans were most illogical in most things.

Spock is so busy contemplating these things that he has failed to answer Nyota a second time. He only notices when she sighs with a frown and shifts her weight, refusing to meet his gaze.

"Spock," Nyota says as she crosses her arms. Her voice is tight with the beginning signs of irritation. "You seem preoccupied. That's almost the fourth time I've not gotten an answer from you." She turns and he can feel her probing gaze. "Is something on your mind?"

"I was merely contemplating a more appropriate area to place the _dan-pid-mashen_," Spock replies and turns his gaze around his room, searching every corner and coming up short. "I can see none."

Nyota makes a thoughtful sound as she looks around. "Well," she drawls slowly and gently touches her hand to his elbow. Spock tries not to tense under the contact of her hand. "I have a few places in mind within my own quarters." She smiles and the white of her teeth are almost glaring. "And while we're at it we can grab a few sets of your clothes. I have some space in a drawer or two."

Spock frowns. "I have an efficient amount of space already, Nyota."

Nyota's smile shrinks a fraction. "Yes, I know."

Spock's frown deepens. He is unsure of her motives. "Then is it not unnecessary to offer?" Nyota's smile becomes nonexistent and Spock is uncomfortably aware that he may have said something wrong. "Nyota?"

She turns and strokes her hand along the stalk of the plant. "It's nothing Spock. I only _thought_—" Here she pauses to exhale. "I just thought," she starts again. "That it would be nice to have some of your clothes in my quarters. That way you wouldn't have to leave. You could actually spend the night. With me."

Spock understands what she is asking. This is a conversation that they have had before while they were still at the academy. "Nyota," he begins carefully. "We have discussed this before. My opinion on the matter has not changed…" Spock hesitates as he's reminded of the Captain's callous words earlier that week.

_"—must be hard to relate emotionally. Not to mention all that brutal honesty—well—that must make things really interesting between you two."_

Though he is unable to see Nyota's face, he can see the tensing of her shoulders. Spock is positive that, had his shields not been properly set, he would be able to feel her anger and disappointment. Although he is unwilling, he cannot ignore the fact that the Captain's words have merit.

"If you permit me some time, I will consider your request again," Spock says and watches as her shoulders relax. His knows comment has met success because even from the angle of where he is standing, he can spot the first beginnings of a smile.

Nyota straightens and strides to his replicator. "Here," she turns to him with a glass pitcher. "It looks thirsty. Can you fill this with water?"

Spock receives the pitcher without argument and carefully avoids any contact between their hands. Nyota frowns but doesn't comment. He briefly contemplates explaining his actions—he is merely making an attempt to respect the privacy of her thoughts and emotions—but she is facing away from him again and tending to the _dan-pid-mashen_.

Spock supposes it would be best to leave her to it. His mother once told him that the expression a woman wears on her face could say a lot about what she is thinking. If there is no expression, than it's best to leave her to her own devices until one comes about. When he was younger, his mother often spoke of such things when she was vexed by something his father might have said or done. He was never able to introduce Nyota to his mother, and he often wonders what his mother's opinion might have been.

It is troubling to admit, but Spock is not certain if his relationship with Nyota was one of his wisest decisions.

Spock found himself frowning as he approached the washroom sink, setting the right temperature for the water and holding the vase below the spout so that it may fill. Over the sound of running water, his ears involuntarily pry out the voices coming from his immediate right. From the Captain's quarters.

_"—you see this one?" _Based on tone and pitch, Spock suspects it is the Captain who is speaking. "_Little Sylvia and Hannah did these. Look at how small their hands are. Just adorable._"

"_Yeah, Kid, it's a real heartbreaker._" The accented baritone can belong to no other besides Doctor McCoy.

For what purpose was he in the personal quarters of the Captain? Spock had detected no illness from the Captain two days ago at the briefing meeting or during any of their shifts. Spock thought it only logical to listen for just a few more moments to determine the state of the Captain, lest the ship be in need of him stepping up as acting captain if the Captain herself was unable.

"_You know…you could at least pretend to be interested. I figure you owe me after that little display with Robert and Angela. Do I **need **to remind you that you were interrupting their wedding plans?_"

"_No, damn it. Don't you think I feel bad?_"

"_Well…I don't know. It's hard to tell with you sometimes. Are there differences in your scowls and frowns, Bones?_"

"_Sure. About as much a difference there is between chicken and goose eggs._"

"_I have no idea how to take that._"

"_Take it how you like, Jimmy, just so long as your takin' this plate and eatin' this food. Christ—when was the last time you ate? You lost three pounds._"

"_Bones! You sneaky southern bastard, did you wave your medical wand at me?_"

"_Instead of askin' you only to get some shitty answer? You bet._"

There is a moment when it sounds as if the Captain is shuffling foot to foot, muttering, "_Never should've taken you on as my CMO. Bossy…_"

Spock feels inclined to disagree. Based on what he has researched about Doctor McCoy, he was the most qualified in his field. Admiral Pike had often spoken of him with humored awe, and once or twice admitted that when the Doctor graduated, he would be the first to offer him a position on his ship.

"_So just what have you been up to. Besides avoidin' me?_"

"_Well I—"_

The Doctor interjects, "_Let me guess. Runnin' yourself into the ground by the looks of it. How much sleep are you gettin'?_"

"_I got eno—_"

"_Let me guess again,_" the Doctor interrupts once more. "_Less than six hours._"

The Captain gives no response.

"_Have you talked to Dr. Dehner?_"

"_Now why would I eve—"_

"_I can guess that one too, and it's a 'no',"_ the Doctor says. Spock finds this method of questioning illogical. If he has the solutions to all of his queries, why does he not just state them?

There is a heavily exhalation, from who, Spock cannot determine, but it is followed by a stretch of silence.

"_Jim. Does this have anything to do with 'ole pointy ears?_"

"_Not everything is about Spock!_"

"_It is when you're not sleepin' or eatin'! Why do you think you can fool me? We both know I that I know you better than that._"

Spock feels his eyebrows furrow in thought. It appears that he is at fault for the Captain's condition.

Before Spock can truly contemplate this, the Captain is speaking once more, "_It's not Spock. I mean—it is but it isn't at the same time—it's mostly just me, Bones._"

"_Explain because I'm not buyin' that for a second._"

"_Would you buy it for a candy bar then?"_

"_Mind my patience, Kid,_" the Doctor warns.

"_Okay, okay. God you sound just like Momma McCoy sometimes, I swear. You really did come out of her vag—_"

Slam. "**_Jim! Cut it!_**"

"_Okay, okay! Easy with my desk, you'll punch a hole right through if you keep that up. Now—" _There is a brief pause. "_I don't know how to start. But I guess I'll just say that when I got that transmission from Admiral Barnett I kind of went into full on panic mode, which is ridiculous cause, you know, James T Fucking Kirk does not panic. But I did and I started all this unnecessary research for things to do with the Neutral Zone and the Earth-Romulan War, and wouldn't you know like halfway in I find one of my own papers!_"

"_How can I forget? I lost sleep because of that paper, but Jim, that's you. You go overboard when you feel like it matters._"

A wry chuckle. Then, "_You've got no idea, Bones. No idea. You thought first semester back at the academy with me was bad, this is like—like…I don't even know. But anyway, after I kicked myself, I wandered over to Spock's room. You know our quarters are connected right? I mean, like by the bathroom—anyway, I kind of walked in without knocking or an invitation but like I said I was too, you know, me, and I was like fuck it and Spock's not happy, he's never happy when it comes to me, he's got every reason to be, I've done nothing but fuck him over—hypothetically speaking of course—oh God do you even hear me? Are you listening to what I'm saying?_"

"_Every word, but Kid, you need to skip the prologue and all the side notes and just tell me what happened. Did he hit you again?_"

"_No, Bones. But sometimes I wish he had—no, shut up and just listen to what I have to say before you start ranting._" A sigh, then, "_We discussed the mission, after he berated me for not alerting the bridge as soon as possible that is, and then we got to talking about the SS Valiant—no, Bones, shut it, I'll explain that whole thing once I got it figured myself—but like I was saying I asked him if he could get anything from the tapes that we found on the ship's recorder-marker and blah blah blah, I turned to leave, and then he had to make this comment about me not coming back in without his permission and I fucking get that, but you know how I am, Bones. I hate being told something._"

"_I'm well accustomed to your major authority issues._"

"_EXACTLY! Now if we can get Spock to understand, maybe he wouldn't be such a—but this is beside the point. The point is that it turned into a little debate and he said some things I didn't like and then I said some horrible things that I'm sure crushed his soul. But you know, I was fucking jealous—am fucking jealous of him and Uhura and it's ridiculous because this bond is just fucking my head in, I swear. And Sarek didn't make it any better._"

"_Now hold on a minute—you talked to Sarek again_?"

"_I had no choice. He's almost as bad as you. He must have felt my, um, distress over the situation. And when I told him what happened he just made it seem like Spock and I were just having a lover's quarrel, you hear that? A lover's quarrel! What the fuck is my life becoming, Bones?"_

Spock can feel his eyebrow twitch. A storm of emotions begin to uncoil inside of him, and at the effort of keeping calm by controlling his breathing, he fights against the cold feeling of dread and fury that is trying to overtake him.

But then the Doctor just confirms his suspicions by saying, "_Will you stop bein' an idiot and just tell that green-blooded elf about the damned bond already?_"

"_I cant._"

"_Why not?_"

"_Because I don't know how!_" the Captain shouts. "_Between you and Sarek, I'm suffocating! Who knows how he'll take it, probably not too kindly. Not after what said to him about having bad blood. I didn't mean it, I was just being a stupid asshole. I'm more sorry than he'll ever know. But for now—I can't. I can't say anything about anything. I'll tell him but it has to be when I'm ready. Otherwise, if you think you're seeing me at my worse than nothing will prepare you for what that conversation will do to me—I just—not yet Bones—not yet._"

Spock cannot bear to hear anymore, and in his haste to exit, he accidently breaks the glass vase when he tries to retrieve it from under the still running water. Thankfully, he does not wound himself with any of the pieces as he cleans, despite the trembling in his hands.

There are many questions that probe at his mind as he returns to find Nyota disposing of all the dead leaves. Spock stops a few feet away from her and clasps his trembling hands from view.

Nyota turns with a smile. "I was just thinking maybe it might be a good idea to move it closer to your desk." Her eyes searches his body for a moment. "What happened to the vase?"

Spock responds, "I apologize Nyota, but I will have to cut our evening short. There is an urgent matter that needs my immediate attention."

Nyota's face falls. "How urgent?" she mutters. And like a light switch, her expression turns thunderous. "We've barely spent any time together as is and now that we finally have nothing _but_ time, you're asking me to leave because whatever happened between me handing you that vase and you going to fill it with water, defines if we can _sit _and _eat _like we _agreed _and _made an effort _to do, _two days _in advance?" Nyota places her hands on her hips. "Tell me what your thinking, Spock. For my _sanity_, please tell me what's going on."

Spock is unsure of what he should say, how he should explain but the answer would not—could not please her in anyway. How can he explain if he, himself, is searching for an answer? This dilemma keeps him silent because he can find no proper response.

Nyota is not so fond of this approach. "God damn it Spock!" she hisses. "Why must it always be like this? Is there ever—will there ever be a time when I can ask you what you think—what you feel—and have you give me a straightforward answer? We've been in a relationship for two years now, and I'm trying to be patient and understanding considering the weight of things but I'm frustrated. _Frustrated!_ Because my boyfriend—who can be so damn direct about everything else—can't even tell me what's on his mind, even if it's something like—like—like—" Nyota is shaking her head as she stammers, digging for the right words to express her annoyance. After exactly five seconds, her shoulders sag and her mouth snaps shut.

Spock continues his silence. These outbursts have been a frequent constant between them recently. Nyota always seems on edge about something, and though Spock tries to be diligent in correcting any errors from his part, it still has not been enough to dissolve the mounting tension between them.

"Unacceptable," Nyota whispers as she spins on her heel to gather her things. "Water the plant, Spock. I hope you have fun working out whatever it is on your own like you always do."

Spock can do nothing but watch her leave. He wants to apologize, he does understand how important this dinner was for them, to her, but this is also something he cannot afford to ignore. He will attend to the matter of the state of their relationship after he has spoken with his father.

Spock is relieved that when he opens a link of communication to Earth, his father answers right away. Spock is aware that his father is busy with the Vulcan council, searching and negotiating for a new habitable planet for their people.

"Spock," Sarek greets with the Vulcan salute. Spock can hear the questioning in his voice.

Spock mirrors the gesture and without delay, says, "Why have you not said anything?"

Sarek's hand lowers and his eyes darken with contemplation. "Would I be correct in assuming that James has revealed the bond to you?"

"You would not," Spock replies, hiding his clench fists from view under his work desk. "It was by circumstance, and perhaps ill-timing." Spock's eyebrows twitch as he recalls the conversation. "She spoke of the matter with the Doctor, and the bond was mentioned."

"I see," Sarek says quietly.

Spock finds that he needs more than that for a reply. "Father. Why have you not spoken with me personally if you knew?" A brief flash of anger runs through him at the thought of such vital information being purposefully withheld. How could his father not mention this the moment he knew?

"I can understand your grievance, Spock. I had contemplated telling you countless times, but from the time I have spent with James, I decided it would be best to leave the unveiling to her," Sarek says by way of explanation.

Spock tightens his fists. "How can that be reasonable? The risks—"

"Are not as harmful if one party of the bond is not mentally capable of burdening the link," Sarek interjects. His face is firm, and Spock can tell that he is confident in his decision. "She has suffered, this is a fact, but you have not witnessed the very nature of her mind as I have," he continues. He goes silent until, thoughtfully, he says, "She possesses quite the dynamic mind."

If Spock were capable of looking shocked, he would have. His father is not the type to dish out compliments so easily, and certainly not when it concerns a human. But as is, Spock contains his surprise and masks it right along with his disbelief.

"Speak your mind, Spock. I am aware that you currently hold a relationship with—another. And I am also aware that the nature of your relationship with James is far from profound," Sarek says. "But you and James are _t'hy'la_. Any past grievances will no longer matter once you both have broken grounds to an understanding."

Spock unclenches his fists as his mind races. "This—can not be."

"_Kaiidth_, my son," is Sarek's calm response. "You must accept what is."

Anger is threatening to upset the balance of his control. "How can I?" Spock grits out. "How can I if I do not—_can _not understand how this came to be?"

"That, my son, is an answer you must seek in meditation. Heed this advice. Open your mind to the link," Sarek says.

Something shifts in his shields and he recognizes the signature of his father's tampering. This only fuels his irritation. "You have raised shields—that have prevented me from knowing that the link existed. Why?" Spock glares.

Sarek does not look cowed. "For your privacy. But mostly for the safety of James. As I have stated before, she has quite the dynamic mind. There was an occasion when she was able to reach through the link and meld with you. I suspect you were meditating at the time, since your shields were lowered and weak."

Spock's hands clench again and he feels something akin to nausea.

"Do not fret, Spock. I intervened and kept her from plundering your mind without your consent," Sarek assures.

Spock feels anything but grateful or reassured. "She has been aware—" he cuts himself off, unable to find the proper words to ask.

Sarek seems to understand, as he can at times. "I believe there was a time when she was made aware of your—emotions."

Spock is appalled to feel his cheeks heating in embarrassment, least of all before his father.

Sarek does not comment on it though. He looks strangely sympathetic. Spock is unsure if he has ever seen his father sport such an expression. It almost seems as if, in light of his mother's death, he has changed. Or lowered his guard in any case. How else could Spock explain his father's bizarre behavior?

"This is difficult to process," Sarek says. "You are confused and angered, this much I can sense. It will take time. I know you, my son, you will fight and search for flaws. This is expected by one born from a woman who was as strong-willed. But do not let your temper get the best of you before you have opened yourself to the bond."

Spock frowns. "I care deeply for Nyota. Our relationship is one I have come to cherish."

"Deceit does not become you, Spock," Sarek replies wisely. "You can continue this charade when the very essence of you recognizes that what she offers can not satisfy. I hear the doubt in your voice. This is something that has troubled you since the time T'Pau and I had you to betrothed to T'Pring. There will be no peace until you have joined with James and become _t'hy'la_."

"That will be for me to decide," Spock responds determinedly. "And for the moment, a union would be illogical."

Sarek's gaze is searching. "What will be done?" he asks.

Spock gives no answer. He has no answer. He is willfully trying to understand it all but there are no conclusions to be found under his anger and inability to accept the truth of the matter.

"Spock," Sarek says. "Do not hasten into foolish actions, I speak these words with purpose. Consider the matter carefully and think wisely upon your ultimate decision."

Spock's hands clench and unclench, but still he says, "I will—try."

Sarek does not seem convinced by this answer but he does not press any further. "Very well," he says. "I will leave you to meditate."

Spock lifts his hand in the Vulcan farewell.

Sarek pauses as he echoes the gesture. "There is one other thing that I ask of you," he says carefully.

Spock inclines his head.

"Do not confront James. Allow her to approach you when she is ready," Sarek ignores the raised eyebrow Spock gives. "She possesses a rather—precarious temperament. She must not be made aware that you know until the proper time."

Spock does not understand but he gives his agreement anyway.

"Peace and long life," Sarek says.

Spock responds with the same and the monitor goes blank. After a few more moments, he mobilizes and sets to work lighting incense, lowering the lights and finding an appropriate space to sit down and meditate. This task takes exactly nine minutes and twelve seconds. Spock is seated near the edge of his bed atop a cushioned mat on the floor. His legs are crossed beneath him and he has his hands, palms down, atop his knees. His lids lower as his shields come down, layer after layer until he is left bare and open to the surrounding world around him. This would be necessary in order for him to detect the link accurately.

Spock immediately withdraws into himself and searches his mind, leaving no corner unturned, no memory unrecalled, until he finds it. It was golden and small, hidden in the very depths of his essence as though it had remained cowered there until it had been sure it would receive the proper welcoming. It is perched on the very edge of where soul and mind and heart connect as one, and it is vibrant link that shimmers and beckons him closer. Spock cannot resist, cannot remember what resistance felt like. There is something right about the thread, something that he recognizes as his own.

With only a moment's hesitation, Spock pulls forward, reaches out and tugs at the thread until it coils around him and opens him to the mind of James Tiberius Kirk. There is a sudden onslaught of sensation, and in the midst of it all, Spock sees, and what he fears is confirmed.

They are _t'hy'la_.

888

"This looks gross, Bones," Jim complains.

"You haven't even tried it," Bones gripes, shoveling a spoonful of the dish into his scowling mouth.

Jim just pouts and pokes at it with her fork. "I thought I said no steak," she mutters.

Bones snorts. "You did, and it isn't. It's beef stroganoff," he explains. "Now eat it. The deal was that I follow you back so you can show me all those nice little pictures your brothers and sisters drew and you, in return, are to eat anythin' I put down in front of you."

Jim glances up at him with a withering glare. He looks a little too smug on the other side of her work desk. "I have got to stop making deals with you," is her only response as she continues to stab and the suspicious looking meet and pale slimy noodles. "I also have got to get some kind of table. I don't want to eat where I work." She watches as he shrugs. He's not eating on her desk like she is. He prefers to cradle his plate in his left hand as he uses his right to shovel forkfuls of the dish into his stupid southern mouth. His stupid, attractively, pouty full mouth.

Bones pauses his eating to lift an eyebrow. "What was that now?"

Jim squirms as she realizes she must have said that out loud. "Just shut up and continue suffocating yourself with this—stuff," is her eloquent reply.

Bones smirks. "Now don't go tryin' to change the subject now, darlin'. What was it you said about my mouth? Somethin' to do with it bein' _pouty_ and _full_."

"And stupid. I'm sure I threw stupid in there somewhere," Jim adds, fisting her fork in precaution because she's itching to chuck something at his swelling head and smug expression. "And while we're at it, let's put my mouth down for stupidity," she sighs. "It's gotten me in more trouble than I deserve."

"Can't argue that. Look at where it got you with Mitchell," Bones says.

Jim rolls her eyes. "I wish you would just get over that. You make him sound like some kind of certified date-rapist."

"Isn't he though?" Bones leers.

Jim chooses not to respond.

"See, my point exactly." Bones toasts his glass of root beer. "Now eat your food like a good little Captain that doesn't want her CMO to deliver on those threats of hypos."

Jim scoops two forkfuls into her mouth and makes sure to exaggerate the chewing.

Bones chuckles but his expression sobers. "And I mean what I say, Kid. You need to talk to that walking freezer box. I don't need to chase and hunt you down everyday just to make sure your takin' care of yourself. I get enough of that tomfoolery with my other patients. Its different with you because you're my friend, and I'd like to have one less gray hair caused by you and a little less to think about when I'm workin' someone's imploded spleen outta them."

Jim chews silently then sighs. "I know, Bones. I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you worry like I do but—I don't know—what can I say? I'm like a headless chicken most of the time. I try as well as I ca—" She stops and twitches.

Bones frowns and leans forward. "Jim?" He searches her quickly. "Jim what's the matter?"

Jim blinks and twitches as her face twists into a frown. "I—" She glances around. "Do you feel that?"

Bones's eyebrows lift simultaneously. "Feel what?"

Jim stands and places a hand on her chest, directly over her heart. Something feels loser. She feels a bit weightless and unhinged. It's like her body and mind are relaxing without her permission. There's a tickling in the back of her mind and then a gentle probe. "Oh," she gasps and doubles over a little.

Bones hops up and reaches for her.

"No, no," Jim bats away his hands as she uses the edge of her desk to keep her upright. She then presses her other hand to her head and closes her eyes as the probing continues before it stops altogether. After a moment or two she blinks her eyes open. "Huh," she huffs and straightens. "That was weird."

Bones looks equally annoyed and concerned. "Mind tellin' me what the hell is going on?"

Jim glances over at him before she plops right back down in her seat. "Don't know really. Must have been Sarek tinkering around. Kinda weird, really, never felt—" She fingers her lips thoughtfully. "Don't know, Bones. But I feel better now. Kind of like I've actually followed your advice and have been sleeping and eating properly. Don't know," she repeats. "I feel new and—open and—I don't know."

Bones lifts an eyebrow at this explanation but he relaxes and sits again. "Should I haul you down to medical and get a good look at that noggin of yours?"

Jim smiles and rolls her eyes. "Nah, I'm fine. A little sleepy, but I'm fine, Bones. Really. A bit sleepy, though." She pauses and looks down at the food and without anyone's prompting, clears her plate enthusiastically.

Bones eyebrows lift in surprise. "You sure you're alright, Kid?"

Jim frowns but it's oddly placed since she's chewing as well. "What?" she asks. "I'm hungry. Do you want me to fight you spoon for spoon? I can eat without you making me sometimes, and I'm actually hungry."

Bones studies her for a few more moments until he dismisses the strange behavior with a headshake. "Fine, fine," he says. "Long as you're eatin'. I got nothin' to complain about."

Jim points her fork in his direction, and with a mouthful, replies, "_Exactly_."

Bones scowls. "Do you have manners?"

"Yup. They're around here somewhere, probably next to all those pairs of shoes of mine that keep disappearing," Jim responds jovially. And she does feel happier for some reason, like she's not got a care in the world, when in fact, she has several. Whatever Sarek did, sure did a number on her. She isn't going to complain, she'll actually have to remember to thank him the next time they talk.

Bones sighs and stands to his feet. "I better get goin'. Got an early shift tomorrow, and you do too. We both need the sleep."

Jim's head bobs in agreement. "Right you are, Bones, right you are. Sure you don't want to stay for desert?" Here she shakes her eyebrows suggestively.

Bones snorts. "Save the seducin' for that pointy-eared First Officer of yers."

Jim blushes and curses when her perfectly aimed fork is met with no success. "Just get out of here before I tell _Christine_ you and I are going steady," and she grins when it's Bones's turn to go red.

"God damn pain in my side," Bones mutters.

Jim beams. "Love you too, Bones. Forever and always."

Bones dismisses her with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, yeah. You just make sure you do eat some desert. _Three pounds_, Kid. I wont have you bein' underweight while I'm around."

"I'll have a slice of pie," Jim assures.

"_Two _slices. And some ice-cream," Bones adds as he shuffles over to the door.

Jim stands to see him out. "Geez, Bones. We wanna get me back to normal, not make me into a porker."

Bones steps out into the hall when the door slides open. "With your metabolism, I doubt that's a genuine worry. Get some shut eye, Kid, I'll see you tomorrow for lunch."

"That a date?" Jim says cheekily.

Bones scowls. "It's a threat."

Jim smiles and waves as he strides down the corridor in the direction of his own quarters. She chuckles to herself once he's out of sight and shuffles back into her room as the door hisses to a close behind her. After disposing of their dishes, she fiddles with her replicator for some dessert. Just to spite Bones, she gets two pieces of brownies with ice-cream instead.

Jim carries the bowl over to her bed and curls up under her covers with a giddy smile. When she's nice and comfortable, she wastes no time digging in. As the first bite slides into her mouth, she moans joyously. "Oh my God," she groans, practically inhaling the next bite. "Whoever said that diamonds were a girls' best friend was an asshole. _Mm_." She continued to devour the chocolately goodness until she licked the ice-cream dish clean like some starved feline.

"Oh man that was good," Jim sighs and drops the bowl onto her nightstand so that she could sink back into her sheets and covers and soft pillows. "Computer. Lights to zero percent." She exhales and closes her eyes as a smile itches at her lips. She actually chuckles a few times before she settles down into a light doze. She can't describe how elated and free she feels. It's not quite like floating on cloud nine, but it sure as hell is close. Seriously, she's going to have to send Sarek a gift basket, because whatever he did just is fantastic. It's like a perpetual weight has been lifted.

That night, Jim doesn't just sleep.

She passes the fuck out.

888

Spock withdraws from the Captain's mind as soon as he sure she is sleep. For the past hour and a half, he has had to peruse through her mind undetected, correcting and fixing any mental and emotional damage the strain of their bond has caused. There was quite a substantial amount, and Spock is ashamed to admit that it is partly due to his attitude towards the Captain. He also feels an extreme amount of guilt for having to rifle through her memories in order to determine when the bond formed and how long it has been since then. Spock wants to be upset with his older counterpart by his careless actions, he should be, but the logical side of him points out the fact that it was, indeed, by his own hands that sent the Captain to Delta Vega in the first place.

As Spock reestablishes his shields, he contemplates his father's words. The Captain's mind is dynamic indeed. Never before had Spock felt so welcome as he did in her mind. Her mind had reached for him without prompting and opened itself unquestioningly for his examining. Her mind had not resisted him, but drew him in and surrounded him like a cool breeze. Most curious it was, but considering the weight of things, it was not unbelievable. If their minds were meant to be in union, as Spock had most certainly witnessed and experienced for himself, then there would never be any defiance between their minds.

The bond only exists because both of their minds are able to recognize the indisputable harmony shared between them.

This may prove to be troublesome.

Once Spock feels he has properly stabilized his shields, as well as purged all emotions of anger and dismay, he inquires on the whereabouts of Nyota.

The computer's reply is_, "Lieutenant Nyota Uhura is located in observation lounge 3, deck 14."_

So that is where Spock goes. He finds her alone and in the dark, with nothing but the illumination from the windows as her light. Her fingers are gracefully plucking the strings of her lyre. Spock knows that she only plays the u-shaped wooden instrument when she is struck by more melancholy moods. He stands in the doorway, observing her as she hums gently, and at the beauty of the music, he finds himself unwilling to interrupt.

Nyota glances up at him, however, with a blank expression but her hands do not cease its movement. "You don't have to crowd the doorway, Spock. Come sit," she instructs.

So that is what Spock does. He takes a seat across from her. The lounge is small, a mere dorsal, having nothing to offer but an oval-shaped area of seats that all face forward.

"When I was seven," Nyota begins as her hands slow just a fraction. "My parents and I would travel to Kenya to visit my grandpa. He made this lyre with his bare hands, and he refused to do it any other way, even when in his old age, his withered hands had lost much of its steadiness." She gazes away from him as though she spies this memory in some hidden corner. "He was a proud man, my grandfather. My father and mother often claimed that the same strong-willed spirit he possessed has passed on to me. And maybe they were right. I have an unyielding temper that can get the best of me sometimes. I'm reminded every time I play this." Her hands still as she sighs. "I'm telling you this because I realize I can be difficult to handle. I have my pride but I try to be patient and understanding, especially when it matters to me.

"You matter to me, Spock, in ways that I can't fully express." Her mouth stretches into a humored smile. "Imagine that. A linguist with no words. Ironic really, but I suppose love is irony."

Spock tenses at the confession. "Nyota—" he hesitates, unsure how to voice his concerns.

Nyota gazes at him carefully. "You've come to tell me bad news," she states. Her shoulders slump slightly and she sets the lyre off to the side. "And here I was hoping you had come to apologize. Or to at least say that you love me back."

Spock's hands twitch against his thighs. "I do wish to apologize," he says.

"Just not for what I want you to, right?" Nyota replies but then looks resolute. "Whatever it is—we'll work through it."

Spock explains as best as he is able. There are a lot of details that he still withholds, and by the continuing frown and look of confusion on Nyota's face, she can tell.

Nyota crosses her arms and her legs. This is not a positive sign. "What does it mean?" she asks. "_T'hy'la._ What does it mean? I don't recognize the term."

"It is not one we use in formal conversation," Spock explains.

Nyota's mouth tightens. "I asked you what it meant, now explain that to me."

Spock carefully masks his unease at her tone of voice and responds, "Friend, brother and lover."

Nyota laughs suddenly and shakes her head. "So you're basically telling me you found your soul mate," she determines. "Are you fucking kidding me, Spock?"

Spock is taken back by her harsh language.

"This—this—you know—no—you know what? No," Nyota closes her eyes and shakes her head. "I—refuse—I _refuse _to believe that you went off and found some one more _suitable_," she hisses.

"Nyota—"

Nyota interjects, "Don't you even _dare _try and calm me down. I have every _right _to be upset. To be—just—fucking livid!" She stands to her feet with her hands on her hips. "Two years, Spock. Two years we've been dating and your sitting there and trying to tell me that it doesn't mean a thing? That I was just your little fuckaround until you found—" She lifts her hands in quotation marks. "_The one_. Unacceptable. Un-fucking-acceptable. And here's another thing—I refuse to let you go. I love you, Spock and I'll be damned if some—person just comes in and be the deciding factor in our relationship. I know you love me too, and never mind what I said before, because I know when a Vulcan commits, he _commits_. But you tell me what you think. _Do _you want to end our relationship?"

Spock takes only a moment to contemplate his answer, "I do not."

Nyota blinks, as though the answer surprises her. She visibly deflates. "Good," she mutters and exhales. "Good." She turns and sits again. "God, I'm sorry, Spock. I didn't meant to fly off on you like that—I just—I'm sorry. You know, it doesn't matter. I shouldn't have assumed you were going to leave me, I know you must have taken the time to really think about all this." She chuckles wryly and shakes her head as she crosses her legs and arms again. "I should really be asking you how you feel about all this. This must have come as a surprise."

"Indeed," Spock replies. He is having a hard time keeping up with Nyota's mood swings. Her actions were most alarming. Nevertheless, he cared a great deal for Nyota and he is willing to overlook it. His news has emotionally compromised her, and he cannot hold her accountable for her response. She is, first and foremost, a dear friend. One of his only friends.

"Well, who is it?" Nyota asks.

Spock catches the frown that begins to form and straightens his expression. "I would—prefer not to say," he responds.

Nyota does not look happy. "Alright, that's fine. I can respect that," she merely says. She sighs. "I feel foolish, Spock. The way I just behaved, it was—" she stops herself short with an embarrassed laugh. "I mean—is this really a good idea? Continuing on as we have? Is it really the logical thing to do?"

"I can not say for certain, Nyota," Spock answers honestly. "The nature of the bond varies. It is possible that it will remain platonic, or evolve into a relationship that siblings share. Ultimately, the depth of the relationship is determined by both parties involved."

Nyota frowns. "So—you're not just spontaneously falling in love with someone else?"

Spock is somewhat troubled by her narrowed view. "It is illogical to assume that the bond will solicit any unwarranted feelings by either party." But even as he said this, he did not truly know and it was the uncertainty about the matter that left him greatly unsettled. The only thing that he knew to do was to maintain the proper distance from the Captain, while also remaining cordial in a way that would not affect either of them negatively.

Nyota uncrosses her arms. "Whoever claimed that love is logical?" she counters smartly. "But I will trust you by your word. Only if you promise me that if answer changes at anytime, you'll let me know. Do you understand, Spock? I won't tolerate being cheated on, not even emotionally."

Spock nods once.

"Good," Nyota exhales. She stands to her feet with her lyre. "I haven't eaten. We can still have that dinner in my quarters, and maybe you can stay the night?"

"I am amenable to the suggestion," Spock replies, standing as well.

No one would be able to say that they hadn't tried.

888

Saturday arrives sooner than expected.

Jim will never be able to explain the nervousness. It isn't as if she's the one getting married. So why is she pacing a hole into the floor in Sickbay in nothing but a jet black pencil skirt, a cream blouse and a pair of gray pumps?

"It's a quarter to ten, Jim. Think you oughta get goin'," Bones says unhelpfully while he tends to the wound on Scotty's hand. "It's bad form for the officiator to show up late to the weddin'."

Scotty's eyes light up. "Is that why you're dressed so fancily for?" he asks curiously.

Jim nods distractedly, ringing her hands as she continues to pace. "My stomach is in knots. Bones why can you come with me?"

Bones glares at her before turning his attention back to Scotty's hand. "Because I'm doin' what you brought me on this godforsaken ship for."

Jim pouts. "I'm dateless. Never mind me being late, showing up alone is what's bad form."

Scotty's expression turns thoughtful. "You know, I've never been to a wedding before. Do you think they'll mind me being there if I should decide to—"

"You're not goin' anywhere until I say," Bones gripes. "My God man! Are you blind to this hole in your hand?"

Scotty snorts. "Would not be the first," he replies.

Jim pauses her pacing to snort. "Why am I not surprised to hear you say such a thing?"

Scotty shrugs. "Part of my charm."

"Yeah, I suppose it is," Jim says. "I can see your gravestone now. Montgomery E. Scott. Master of quantum physics, lover of sandwiches and purveyor of work-related, self-inflicted holes."

"Now that's what I'm talking about," Scotty chimes enthusiastically, nodding his head in utter approval.

"Idiot," Bones huffs quietly and gestures to Christine. "Get goin', Jim."

Jim pouts. "But Bones! Scotty's agreeing to be my date."

Bones stabs Scotty with a hypo that knocks him unconscious. "Not much use to you now is he?"

"You're cruel."

"Tick tock, Kid."

Jim smacks her lips and rolls her eyes, stomping towards the exit.

"Don't you eat anythin' there either! Don't wanna have to haul you back down here!"

Jim dismisses him with a wave of her hand and strides through the corridor. The walk to the observation lounge is a short one, but it still is enough time for her nerves to regroup. Thankfully, the sights of all the beautiful decorations are enough to distract her. The lounge is nearly unrecognizable, what with all the silk streamers hanging from the bulkheads. The floor is covered with white rose petals and balloons. Jim vaguely recalls her prom looking like something similar. She glances around to the rows of chairs, separated on either side of the short stretch of gray carpet leading to the front of the room where the view screen is full of, what Jim can assume, is Robert and Angela's family.

Jim makes her way over to Robert, who is standing in a black tux with his hands folded together behind him. He has a small smile on his face that's bordering shyness and anxiousness. Jim finds it adorable, and is just a little touched at how Robert's face lights up at the sight of her. He greets her warmly, shaking her by the hand as she stands beside him.

"Excited?"

"I am."

"Good."

Silence.

"You as nervous as I am?"

Robert chuckles and fidgets. "I'm a mess," he answers honestly.

Jim smiles softly and pats him on the shoulder. "We're almost there."

Robert nods.

The room is alive with chatter, and Jim notices that they have quite the crowd drawing in. It isn't surprising though, since she is aware of how friendly and earnest Robert and Angela are. Of course they have a huge circle of friends. It'd be pretty hard not to like the attractively down-to-earth couple. Jim is surprised, however, to see Yeoman Smith with, what looks like a violin case.

Yeomen Smith dutifully ignores Jim in favor of hugging Robert and congratulating him. Robert smiles and thanks her for her time. Yeomen Smith shakes her head with a fond smile and said she would do just about anything for them. Playing Angela down the aisle was an honor. Robert just thanks her again, and Yeomen Smith returns it with a smile. When she turns to sit to their immediate left, she throws Jim a curious look.

_Probably wondering why I had to be the one to marry them_, Jim thinks sardonically. She gives Yeomen Smith brownie points for not verbally questioning it, and instead, watches as she unveils her violin and positions it atop her shoulder. She rests her chin on the bottom and begins to play. She's actually quite good.

After ten minutes, everyone starts to settle down and find their way to their seats. Jim exhales quietly, instinctively knowing that the ceremony will be starting any second now. The mere thought causes a reappearance of butterflies. All she can think about is not screwing this up. She's practiced this in the mirror at least a dozen times, and still she doesn't quite feel prepared for the real thing.

The melody of the violin changes, causing everyone to rise to his or her feet and turn towards the aisle. Robert stills beside her, and that's completely understandable, because Angela is standing right there in the doorway, looking absolutely gorgeous and glowing in her off-white wedding gown. Her fingers are laced around a bouquet of white lilies, and even though the veil has her face absolutely covered, Jim can still make out the gleaming white of her smile. One glance at Robert and Jim has to stifle a knowing chuckle because the man looks bewitched. It is very endearing.

Angela finally reaches them and Robert immediately takes the hand she offers as they turn to face Jim.

Jim clears her throat and says, "You may all be seated." And everyone sits. She begins reciting the proper words, merely from memory, "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today to witness the union between Robert and Angela…"

On and on Jim goes and she even surprises the hell out of herself with how well she is doing. It becomes easier, especially when she sees the love in both their eyes and the way they smile like two giddy school children when they turn and face one another. Jim isn't much of a public crier, but her eyes go just a tad misty as they stand face to face, speaking their personalized vows and promises. The unconditional love in their voices is quite profound. It leaves Jim feeling rather amazed.

_Of course you are, you're a real advocate for true love—just not for yourself, never for yourself. _

The thought is disturbing and Jim refuses to start a pity party right in the middle of finalizing the wedding. So she presses it back as far as she can and widens her smile as the couple dresses each other with their rings. After no one has objected (seriously, who would?) when Jim asks, she claps her hands together and announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr. and Mrs. Robert Tomlinson! You may now kiss the bride."

Everyone stands and cheers uproariously, almost shaking the room with the sounds of their clapping at the kissing newlyweds who seem lost in their own little world of bliss. Jim chuckles at the sight of Robert dipping Angela and kissing her deeply. Angela is blushing and holding onto him tight. Their family on the view screen are whistling and cheering as well. Jim peeks over her shoulder at them and she sees both of the couples' mothers weeping into a handkerchief.

Jim watches as everyone shifts, moving towards the other end of the lounge where there are tables of food and drinks, while at the same time crowding around the newly married couple to congratulate them. Jim eventually joins them, conversing with the people on her ship she before was unfamiliar with. Most of them are crewmembers who, like Robert and Angela themselves, works in the phaser control rooms. There were one or two who came from a different department.

Sometime after everyone has had their fill of food, and had the pleasure of watching Angela and Robert cut the first slice of cake and feed it to each other, the chairs and tables were moved. This was done so there would be enough space to dance along to the music provided by a group of musicians who had showed up in the ladder part of the ceremony. They played with stringed instruments and sang.

Jim carefully slinks back into a quiet corner at this time (she's not much of a dancer, like, at all) and watches the proceedings with a fond smile. She takes a few sips of champagne from the flute glass she's holding in her right hand and shuffles out of her heels, keeping them near her as she wiggles her toes. She sighs at the relief of her feet no longer throbbing and at having just a bit of time to herself.

"Fancy meeting you here."

This relief is short-lived.

Jim tenses against the bulkhead she's leaning against as her eyes cut to Mitchell, who's standing to her immediate right. "Mitchell," she greets in a mutter and takes a nice long sip of her champagne.

"I was quite impressed. Didn't take you for the type who attended weddings, let alone officiate one." Mitchell's eyes are gleaming, and he's sporting a rather dark grin, as well as a navy blue suit complete with a silk tie and white button down.

Jim curses his good looks. Her libido refuses to let her ignore that he does look rather dashing. Nevertheless, he isn't the sort she wants hanging around. "Well I'm full of surprises," she responds and shifts away from him when he tries to slide in closer. "And I didn't think you were the type that attended weddings either so I guess that makes us even."

"Hm," Mitchell hums thoughtfully, drinking her in slowly with his eyes as he presses his hand against the wall near her head. "I'm secretly a romantic," he replies, his white teeth sharpen the grin he wears.

Jim laughs. "Oh, I know firsthand how much," she mutters sarcastically around the rim of her glass.

Mitchell's grin slips a fraction, and something like irritation flashes in his green eyes, but it's gone in an instant so Jim can't really be sure. "You know, if you had wanted, that could have gone a different way," he says, taking a step closer and thoroughly invading her personal space. "But at the time it seemed like you were less interested in dinner and candlelight rather than seeking the bottom of that red wine bottle." He slides the back of his hand down her bare arm and gazes at coyly through lowered lashes. "Was I wrong?"

Jim stiffens and turns her eyes to the sight of the clapping, smiling and dancing livelihood of the reception. "So how do you know Robert and Angela?" she asks, pushing his wandering hand away.

Mitchell smirks and just crowds her into the corner. "Oh we go a long ways back, them and I. Known them practically forever, so happy to see they've decided to make this all official," he whispers and has the complete and utter nerve to lean in for a kiss.

Jim immediately slaps a palm over his mouth with a glare. "Mitchell," she growls warningly. "I hope to God you are intoxicated because otherwise you've got no plea bargain if I should decide to—oh, I don't know—break your jaw and snap your fingers." She lands him with a powerful glare before it morphs into a sweet smile. "Now," she says as she removes her hand from his mouth to straighten his tie for him. "Let's not ruin a perfectly pleasant evening. We wouldn't want to do anything to spoil Robert and Angela's big day, now would we?"

Mitchell is curiously silent and his face is cleared of any expression.

Jim frowns and shifts her weight. That blank expression is unsettling, and it probes at her mind for some reason. "Alright there Mitchell?" she asks, eyeing him carefully.

Mitchell's face is set like stone, and instead of answering he turns to look over his shoulder in the direction of the doorway.

Jim looks as well but she sees nothing and no one. He's acting really off. "Mitchell?"

Mitchell continues gazing over his shoulder until his face twists into a disgusted frown. He finally turns back and eyes her with a considering gaze. "Shame," he murmurs. "Seems like there's something I've forgotten to do. You'll excuse me won't you? I'd loved to continue this conversation some other time." And he's off before she can even respond.

Jim feels her head cock as her eyebrows furrow questioningly. "Now what the hell was that all about?" She starts to think on Mitchell's odd behavior but a tugging in her gut distracts her for a moment, and before she can help it, her eyes instinctively flick over to the doorway where Spock is now standing. At the sight of him, her fingers tighten around her glass and she slinks further into the corner.

Spock's dark eyes are stripping the lounge apart, and within a second, they zero in on Jim. As he makes his way over, Jim curses quietly, feeling completely unprepared for this interaction. The guilt and shame from her ugly words earlier that week are still fresh and gnawing away at her like a worm. She thinks, perhaps he has come to berate her about something, but for the life of her, she can't recall if she's done something to deserve it.

Spock stops exactly four feet away from her. "Captain," he says, clasping his hands behind him. "I wish to have a word with you."

Jim frowns and pushes away from the bulkhead. "Can't it wait? I'm kind of in the middle of something." She avoids his gaze. It isn't that she's going out of her way to be rude to him, but at the same time she isn't going to be rude to Robert and Angela by walking out just like that.

"I am aware," Spock responds. "What we must discuss, however, can not be placed on hold."

Jim winces and knows there's no getting out of it. "Alright, what is it?"

Spock hesitates, making it a point to glance behind him. "I am afraid we will have to go somewhere more private."

Jim winces again. That's not really a good idea, considering what happened last time they mixed words in private. "Oaky," she sighs. "Let me just say my goodbyes and we can be off."

"Very well. I will await you by the entrance," Spock replies, turning on his heel and walking away.

Jim watches him go for a moment before she slinks her way over and through the crowd to find Robert and Angela. When she does, she apologizes and explains she has to leave. The newlyweds just smile and say that they understand while they thank her for everything. They exchange hugs and Jim congratulates them again and wishes them the best. She turns and joins Spock, who is waiting patiently in the doorway.

As they stride through the corridor and step onto the turbolift, Jim silently wonders why Spock has come to seek her out. Before she can help it, her mouth moves and she says, "If I apologize again—will you accept it?"

Spock glances at her briefly before returning his gaze forward again. "Apologies are unnecessary. We have both behaved in a manner unfitting."

Jim gapes. "Unnecessary?" she repeats with a tone of disbelief. "Spock I said the most—inexcusable things to you and you're trying to tell me that I do not have to apologize? I mean, I understand that we both spoke out of anger and acted childishly but—you do deserve an apology."

Spock says nothing at first, and then, "Very well. I accept your apology, Captain, in the hopes that you no longer attempt making such callous comments in reference to my genetic origins."

Jim nods, and it's left at that. She sighs and is grateful that she can shake this feeling of guilt. "One more thing," she says. "If I do happen to piss you off, can you leave it off-duty? I don't want to have to write you up for insubordination."

Spock inclines his head and Jim can tell he wants to argue that Vulcans do not get pissed but he doesn't. "I shall endeavor to better my behavior."

The lift door hisses open and Jim is led down the corridor and into Spock's personal quarters. To say that she is confused is an understatement. She's even more confused when Spock makes a gesture for her to take a seat at his work desk. As she does, the confusion reaches an all time high when Spock switches on his desk monitor and Admiral Barnett appears across the screen.

Admiral Barnett is sporting a grave expression. "Jim," he greets.

"Admiral," Jim greets back.

"You look nice," Admiral Barnett says offhandedly.

Jim frowns. "Uh—thanks. Did this wedding thing," she explains, waving her hand around carelessly. "Is there something wrong?"

"You can say that," Admiral Barnett replies. He glances over her shoulder to Spock, who is standing behind her, hands firmly clasped and posture neatly straight. "Spock?"

"I have taken all necessary precautions. This line is secure," Spock responds.

Admiral Barnett nods. "Good," he says. He turns his attention back to Jim. "Jim, I want you to listen to me very carefully," he starts. "You've got a leak."

Jim feels her eyebrows rise. "Leak?"

"Yes," Admiral Barnett replies, looking deadly serious. "Five days ago, I sent you a transmission with the instructions of your first assignment. The only problem is, I didn't send it."

Jim stiffens as ice cold dread pumps through her veins. "What?" she whispers.

"No one in Starfleet is responsible for that transmission, and further more, we're just learning of this attack on our outposts in the Neutral Zone," Admiral Barnett goes on to explain. "Jim. I was contacting you today to give you your first official assignment. When you could not be reached, I talked to Spock instead, and I was alarmed to hear that your coordinates had already been locked." Admiral Barnett studies her for a moment. "Spock and I have been discussing the possibility of their being a mole aboard the ship. Only a person on the inside would have been able to hack and alter the computer systems in such a way."

Jim leans back in her seat, pressing her fingers to her mouth as she frowns wordlessly.

"I too believe this to be true, Captain," Spock adds. "The person responsible would have to possess extensive knowledge on altering and fabricating information and transmissions. They would also be monitoring all the computer's memory banks in order to uphold these fabrication of lies or to prevent us from learning the truth."

Jim remains silent.

"Jim," Admiral Barnett says. "I know it may be hard, but—can you think of anyone? Anyone at all with those types of qualifications?"

Jim closes her eyes and tries to think, tries to riffle through her brain for anything, no matter how ridiculous. The only person she can think that comes close is Scotty, but she just can't believe that the Engineer would be capable of such a thing. Next is Chekov, but it's the same, and she can't see the young genius doing something so maniacal. Then there was Uhura, but that didn't make sense. Her knowledge of transmissions only went so far. A few days ago, she'd admitted to having difficulty interpreting the tapes and—

Jim eyes snap open. "Admiral Barnett—red or white?"

Admiral Barnett looks confused.

"Wine. Red or white wine?" Jim clarifies. "If you had to choose one for me, which one would it be?"

Admiral Barnett is staring at her like she's grown another head. "I—I don't know—white I guess."

"Why?" Jim presses.

"You—seem like the type I suppose. Is this going somewhere?" Admiral Barnett asks.

Jim ignores the question, "Spock, what are the chances of a person answering white for me every time I asked someone who didn't know me well enough."

"The odds would equal, Captain," Spock replies but there is a bit of a question in his voice. "Though the percent of those who answered white would be much greater than those who answered red."

"Exactly," Jim says with a sudden grin. "Admiral Barnett, did you know that a person with the ability of ESP has the highest chance of winning any type of gamble when it comes to guessing people's personalities? A person with ESP wouldn't have to know me well enough to guess that I prefer red wine to white. They wouldn't have to know my relationship with you in order for that transmission to sound believable and they certainly wouldn't have to know my type of work ethic in order for them to fabricate articles that could answer any questions I had about this mission."

"So you're saying that whoever it is on your ship, has—ESP?" Admiral Barnett says, trying to understand.

"Mitchell," Jim explains. "Mitchell is the only person who I don't know well enough or know anything about. Sure I can say the same for most of my crew but at the same time I carefully handpicked and selected everyone on this ship based on their backgrounds, and Mitchell is the only one that I did not choose myself. His placement on this ship was abrupt and last minute."

"I'll have him researched," Admiral Barnett says.

"It would prove to be fruitless, Admiral, since he could easily alter his records if need be," Spock says. "It would also prove to be potentially troubling if the Lieutenant has placed special firewalls to alert him of any who wish to study his files."

Admiral Barnett doesn't look too happy with that. "We do want to remain under radar with this one, and I suppose that would not be the best course of action. What should be done?"

"Well we can't exactly back pedal," Jim points out. "We're already in warp and two days away from reaching the Neutral Zone. We're going to have to continue on at this point. I think we'll have to handle this really carefully until we can figure out what exactly Mitchell's after."

Admiral Barnett nods. "Very well. I'll see what I can do on my end in the mean time. Let's all try to solve this as discreetly as possible, can't have this Mitchell scenting our trail before we've even started."

"Yes, sir," Jim says.

"Stay vigilant and alert," Admiral Barnett advises before the monitor goes blank.

Silence blankets the air and Jim mind is churning frantically.

"Captain," Spock says, breaking the quiet. "You are certain?"

"About Mitchell? Oh, completely," Jim confirms as she stands and faces him. "I've been taking into account what you mentioned before, about ESP and me being me, I had to research it." She makes a gesture for him to follow her as she walks towards the bathroom and to her own quarters. She makes a beeline for her desk and begins riffling through her desks. "I have a few guesses about why I believe it's Mitchell, I mean the wine thing is a strong indication, and there has to be limits to how much one can see. But we may just have our answers."

"Captain?"

"The tapes, Spock—from the SS Valiant_._" Jim explains and perks up when she locates her PADD. "It should be safe to work through it on this. This is one of my PADDs from the academy. I sort of hotwired it to burn all data signatures."

Spock quirks a brow. "This is something you used on the Kobayashi Maru."

Jim grins and hops up on the edge of her desk. "Well yeah. Only an amateur would not know to go ghost when hacking through stacks of firewalls and security scanners. That's the first thing the computer tracks and locates. _But_ if there isn't one, than Mitchell wont find out we're on to him. Now, come here," she says, turning the PADD on.

Spock stiffens and maintains his position beside her couch. "For what purpose?" he questions.

"What purpose? So I can show you why I think the whole thing with the SS Valiant is just a coincidence," Jim explains. "Up until this point we've only been able to assume that there were no survivors."

Spock hesitates but he ventures closer until he's standing directly beside her, almost close enough to touch. Their close proximity causes the bond to purr in her mind, and Jim finds herself fighting down an answering shudder.

_Oh, boy. Focus, Jim._

Jim clears her throat and tries not fidget as the bond squirms, causing tingling sparks to shoot down the back of her neck and seriously what the hell? That hasn't ever happened before. "But," Jim starts, forcing herself to focus. "Last night I going through the SS Valiant's memory banks again and for some reason the count of shuttles just stuck." She pulled up the log and handed it to Spock.

Spock studies it wordlessly. "There is an uneven number," he calculates.

Jim nods and kicks off her heels before hopping down off the edge of the desk. She walks to her replicator and replicates a green apple. Taking a bite she says, "One. Just one is missing, meaning there was a survivor or at least maybe a group of them. But where would they have gone? Naturally it's safe to assume they headed back to Earth. But there are no records of any survivors returning to Earth, otherwise this whole thing wouldn't be such a mystery." She takes another bite and chews. "But then I can't help but to wonder that if the energy barrier they crossed through during their final mission had anything to do with why it was ultimately destroyed. They must have been affected by that barrier.

"Elevated amounts of interest in anything to do with ESP in humans, right? That's what you said. There must have been odd occurrences—occurrences that were experienced directly after their contact with the anomaly. And whatever it was had to have drove them mad in the end. I don't know much about mental instability, we'll have to ask Dr. Dehner about what she made of those tapes." She pauses to chew. "And I'm guessing—and this is a wild guess—that whoever escaped before the ship was destroyed had to have the same contagion."

Spock, who has been wordlessly studying her PADD during her monologue, says, "You suggest that the contagion can be passed genetically."

"Just think about," Jim reasons. "Something bad happened on that ship, something that someone who escaped and could have very well returned to Earth without so much as a word about it, could have decided to conceal. Maybe it affected the survivor negatively, maybe not. Maybe they were the only individual that stayed in their right mind while everyone else went insane. And maybe they did pass on the gene and maybe Mitchell could be a direct descendant but these are all guesses, Spock. I don't know for sure but this is what I believe."

Spock finally looks up. "Your conclusions have merit, but we will need to discuss any alternatives with Dr. Dehner to be certain."

Jim nods and takes another bite of her apple.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>_Interested yet? Comment and let me know, your reviews are what helped make this chapter possible._


	5. Chapter 6

**Chapter 4**

"Captain Kirk. Commander Spock. Come in, come in," Dr. Dehner says, stepping out of the way and making a sweeping gesture with her arm to invite them into her office.

Spock waits, letting Jim slide through first before he follows. Dr. Dehner makes another gesture towards the wide, banana-colored couch that sits behind the all white coffee table to the left of the room. As Jim plops down directly in the middle of it, Spock chooses to distance himself at the right of the couch. She notices that while Dr. Dehner's office isn't big enough to be the size of an officer's personal quarters, it's still just as nicely furnished. Like extraordinarily furnished with all sorts of nice paintings and vases—all different shapes but all crystal—with nice looking bouquets of flowers. The other side of the room contains a light brown, tall bookshelf, jam-packed with nothing but hardback books. This bookshelf sat adjacent to Dr. Dehner's very small work desk, which is huddled in the very corner of the room. The surface of the desk only contains a monitor, a nameplate, some picture frames with people Jim can't see from this distance, and nothing more. It's pretty bare considering the rest of the room. On the other side of this work desk is an opened doorway with hanging lime-green crystal door beads. Jim feels her eyebrows lift at that—that's something you don't really see this day and age.

Dr. Dehner joins them by situating herself in the opal-colored armchair at the front end of the coffee table. "Now," she starts as clicks her ink pen rapidly, crossing her legs and pressing a leather-bound journal against the top of her thigh. She then slips on a pair of thin, black-framed glasses. As she peeks over the top of them, using her free hand to fold her cropped blonde hair behind her ears, she says, "Before we begin, I just want the both of you to know that this is a completely free environment. Feel free to do or say anything necessary to fully express yourself. This a judge free zone. We will not judge each other here."

Jim feels her eyebrows lift and the corner of her lips twitch. She has a slight suspicion of where this is going. "Uh—that's greatly appreciated Dr. Dehner."

Dr. Dehner nods gravely. "Well Captain, I understand how hard it is for couples to personally seek out counseling. And Commander Spock, it really would be better if you slide a little closer to Captain Kirk. Distance only solidifies the strain on your relationship, we're working to do the exact opposite."

Spock goes rigid, and Jim can see the denial ready to teeter off the edge of his tongue. He wants to correct Dr. Dehner and so he does. "I believe you are mista—"

Jim holds up a hand, silencing him as she tries to clarify the situation. "Dr. Dehner. You uh—you think we've come for couple's therapy?" she asks carefully.

"Why, certainly this is the case. While I'm not privy to the grapevine of gossip, I often have a distinct way of pinpointing the exact nature of certain individuals' relationship," Dr. Dehner says, folding her hands over her leather-bound journal. "You two have the most compatible chemistry I have ever encountered."

"Uh-huh," Jim merely says. How weird of her to say that. That's definitely going to make things uncomfortable. "Well allow me to clarify that Mr. Spock and I hold no such relationship. We're not even friends," and it felt bizarre to even have to add that, but Jim forfeited any contemplation on the matter. It was the truth after all.

Spock glances at her with this indecipherable look. It's hard to say what he is truly thinking since he is masking himself so well.

Jim ignores him for the moment as she continues, "We hold a strictly professional relationship. That's it."

Dr. Dehner looks taken aback. "Oh—I see," she says slowly, glancing back and forth between them with a thorough frown. She presses a finger to her lips as her gaze drops to her leather-bound notebook and she begins writing very quickly. The next two minutes are spent in silence as she writes, humming to herself with nods. Finally, she finishes with a snappy click of her pen, and glancing up, she says, "I hope you will excuse my blunder. I have sensed so much tension between you two—tension and energy that I only encounter when dealing with couples and I suppose I got a little ahead of myself."

Jim nods and out of the corner of her eyes she can see that Spock has carefully masked himself behind a blank countenance. She figures he's not too pleased with Dr. Dehner's wayward assumptions. Jim tries to pretend that this does not bother her, because seriously, fuck him—she isn't _that _bad.

"Mistakes aside, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" Dr. Dehner asks, grey eyes sharpening with intense focus. It's almost unnerving. "Are you seeking to improve your professional relationship?"

"No, we have a few questions we would like to ask you. Some of which—" Jim pauses to clear her throat. "Excuse me—some of which have to do with your conclusions concerning the outcome of the SS Valiant," she explains. "And we also have some troubling things concerning a certain member of the crew that we need confirmed."

Dr. Dehner keeps gazing at them for a long moment before she smiles. "I've been entirely rude. Can I offer you some tea? Coffee? Water? Perhaps a few muffins?" She stands before either of them can respond and disappears behinds the lime-green crystal door beads.

"I'm actually fine for the moment, I just really want to…" Jim trails off when she realizes that Dr. Dehner might not even be listening. She sighs and crosses her legs, getting a firm grip on her black heels and tugs them off while she sets them neatly on the floor. As she wiggles her red-painted toes in relief, she regrets not having the chance to change into some different clothes. Though, at the time, she hadn't really thought about it.

Spock is being awfully quiet. Well, more quiet than usual, but Jim admits that she could be wrong since she hasn't formally spent enough time in his presence that make that assumption. So perhaps it is more like an air of thoughtful silence that is surrounding him.

When Jim turns slightly towards him, she notices that he's observing the room, gaze lingering on the flowers as though he were sizing them up. Lowering her voice, she says, "She must be really popular."

Spock glances at her with a question in his dark eyes. "Popular, Captain?"

"Well yeah—look at all those flowers. A good-looking lady like her doesn't just procure these flowers on her own," Jim reasons.

"You imply that if one is aesthetically pleasing, they are deserving of being the subject of piety," Spock deducts, dark eyes now assessing her with the same intensity he used when studying the flowers.

Jim flushes a little, it's amazing that he is capable of making her do that sometimes with just a look. "I said no such thing," she argues. "At least not in that way. I just—well—okay maybe I _did _mean it like that, but it's true. Whether I like to admit it or not, we humans can be quite shallow when it comes to judging people based on their appearance. If we like what we see, then it can sometimes determine for us if a person is worth our time."

"Illogical," Spock replies, turning his dark eyes away finally towards some unknown corner. "An individual's worth should be determined by one's character and intelligence, not by superficial ideals."

"I agree," Jim says, and she means that, more than he'll ever get to know. "Unfortunately that's not the way of the world. Well—the Earth world." She cups her right hand over the opposite shoulder while she gazes at the mock painting of Mona Lisa over Dr. Dehner's small work desk. "Being judged by looks is something I know all too well," she adds quietly. This isn't something she means to say out loud, and she regrets it the very moment the words escapes from her lips.

Spock turns his dark eyes toward her with quiet contemplation. It's almost like he's weighing her words with what he sees, and it's enough to make her fidget almost. When this continues longer than necessary, she's about ready to remind him how rude it is to stare, but then his eyes are flicking away and she never gets the chance. "The flowers—they are artificial. I do not believe they were given as gifts," he comments, quite randomly.

Jim frowns with slight confusion as she removes the throw pillow that's digging into her lower back and pushes it off to the side. "I'm sorry, you're going to have to run that by me again. The flowers are what now?"

"Artificial," Spock repeats, and his voice has a teacher-like patience to it. "They are synthetic. Therefore it would be appropriate to assume Dr. Dehner has attained them herself."

Jim feels her eyebrows furrow as her blue eyes jump from corner to corner, studying the different bouquet of flowers. What a bizarre thing to notice. "How can you tell?" she asks when she can no longer contain her curiosity.

"The vases hold no water—yet the stems and leaves gleam as though they have been newly polished, and they appear overly healthy despite their decapitation. Their posture also holds a certain rigidity that plants generally do not possess. They often lean laterally if they lack the proper sustenance and care," Spock explains in great detail, a lecture-like quality to his voice.

And for a brief moment, Jim wonders what it would have been like to be his student, but she discards those thoughts quickly because they lead to a very naughty place. She's done fine without viewing Spock as some kind of sexual being, and she definitely didn't need that complication now.

Spock adds, "They are here for mere decoration."

"Decoration," Jim murmurs, considering these things for herself. His theory seemed accurate enough, but she still gets the feeling that Spock wasn't saying something, though she isn't sure what that something is. "Okay—you either know a lot about plants or are just really observant. If I had to guess, I'd say it's both."

"I believe the appropriate human aphorism is '_appearances can be deceiving_'," Spock replies instead.

Later, when Jim recalls this moment, she would be left to wonder whether or not Spock had said this in response to her careless confession of being a victim of judgment based on the way she looked. It would be too beyond her to accept because then that would mean Spock had attempted to console her regarding it. And wouldn't that just be too scary to even consider?

But for now, Jim doesn't think much of it at all, because she's too busy pointing out, "You know—if you can be so observant about these mock flowers, how come your own plant looks like it's dying?"

"I can not ascertain the meaning behind your query," is Spock's natural response. He's lying of course, he has to be. He's too smart to play ignorant.

Yet Jim finds herself playing along regardless. "That blue and yellow potted plant that you keep in your personal quarters. It sits slumped in the corner. I may not know as much about flowers as you do but from what I saw, it looks neglected," she clarifies as she leans back into the banana-colored couch with her arms crossed. She watches him carefully through lowered lids.

Spock remains rigidly upright on the edge of the couch, palms facedown on his thighs as he analyses the bookshelf directly ahead of them. "Dr. Dehner has been absent for quite some time," he comments informally.

Jim rolls her eyes. He's not very subtle at changing the subject, but she just figures she might have hit on something personal, so she decides to leave it be. They are being civil to one another and she doesn't want to upset that delicate balance with her mouth again.

Dr. Dehner finally returns with a silver tray that contains a pitcher of what looks to be iced tea, along with a bowl of shortbread cookies that have a film of chocolate over them. "Sorry it took me so long, I don't much like the replicators when it comes to food. The food tastes too artificial in my opinion, I'll never really get used to them," she says, setting the tray down on the coffee table.

As Dr. Dehner pours a glass of iced tea for her and Spock, Jim says, "Speaking of artificial—Mr. Spock and I were just commenting on how nicely your flowers emphasize the vibe of your office." Snagging a chocolate-covered shortbread cookie from the tray and hiding her mischievous grin, she adds, "Weren't we Mr. Spock?"

Spock politely declines the glass of iced tea that he is offered. "Our visit will not impose on any prior engagements?" he asks, dutifully ignoring Jim's antics.

"Oh no, it just so happens that I am free for the rest of the afternoon, so your timing was perfect," Dr. Dehner assures as she situates herself in her opal-colored armchair, once more taking up her pen and leather-bound notebook. "So—" she starts with a sharp click of her pen. "You wanted to discuss the SS Valiant. I believe I have some notes here, based on my observations and what I was able to detect from the tapes," she says as she flips through her leather-bound journal. She mutters quietly to herself as she looks. "Ah—there we are!" She lifts her glasses towards her forehead so that she can peer at her notes without them. "Let's see," she murmurs, eyes moving left to right. "Is there a specific question you wanted to ask? Maybe that way I can know what to share."

Jim curls the fingers of her right hand around the fistful of cookies she has in her hand (they are addictively good) and she reaches for the stack of napkins on the tray to wipe her mouth clean. "Well—Mr. Spock and I had discussed at one point our mutual findings concerning the high interest in ESP found in the SS Valiant's data banks," she says. As she dusts the cookie crumbs off her lap with her free hand, she goes on to say, "And I just wondered how you were on ESP."

Dr. Dehner takes a moment to remove her glasses before she thoughtfully replies, "In tests I've taken I've rated rather high in ESP."

"Actually, I'm asking you what you know about it," Jim clarifies with a small smile.

"Oh, I see," Dr. Dehner says, putting her glasses back on. "It is a fact that some people can sense future happenings, read the backs of playing cards and so on, but as a whole, all humans posses some form of ESP. Only we like to call it intuition. The difference in the ability of ESP lies in the individual's level of perception. Their capacity is always quite limited when they do not have a sufficient amount of perception." She then goes on to say, "Now as I've said before, all humans possess some form of ESP—but where we were born, the types of environments we expose ourselves to, can be the deciding factor of whether or not our perception becomes dulled or strengthened. It's all chance, I'm afraid. Given the right place and time and factors—ESP is hard to come by. The development of such a gift is very delicate in nature. It could either go very wrong or very right."

Jim finishes the last cookie in her hand, swallows, then says, "Alright, fate and chance aside—what if the prerequisites of actually developing such an ability was met instantaneously by mere accident."

Dr. Dehner smiles knowingly. "You're referring to the circumstances that the crew aboard the SS Valiant encountered."

Spock simplifies the issue by stating, "The Captain reasons that they were infected by some form of contagion. The chance that the crew became directly impacted by the singularity they encountered is in the 98th percentile."

Jim gives a confirming nod.

"Describing it as a contagion is an interesting way to look at things. But I believe it goes beyond the laws and sciences of viruses and infections and the effect they have on human biology, especially in space. It's a rare thing, yes," Dr. Dehner says. "There are no records of such happenings and the effects thereafter until now. Excuse me—I haven't worded that correctly. What I mean to say is that, outside of Earth's natural environment, there have been no claims of encountering any type of singularity that would, in fact, enhance an individual's potential of fully developing their ESP. I, personally, have encountered documents and testimonies and individuals themselves who have accidently happened upon some old well, or power plant, or catacomb that might have contained strong levels of chemicals and minerals or surges of energy that, once they've left from the area, have forever changed them and their perception. But these encounters happened on Earth and the SS Valiant would have been the first recorded encounter of confronting such an anomaly that has the very same ability to enhance more than an individual's ESP abilities.

"In my studies of the tapes, I have concluded that their encounter with the singularity did more than just enhance their natural ESP abilities, but also made them phenomenally adept in terms of psionic capability." Dr. Dehner removes her glasses and says, "ESP was only the tip of the iceberg. What they were actually experiencing was psychokinesis in the highest form."

Spock shifts and when Jim glances over, there is something dawning in his expression. "The reason for the excessive orders and counter orders," he murmurs. "If there were elevated amounts of physical energy experienced in such closed quarters, it would have negatively provoked the crew's ability to make any logical decisions," he concludes.

Jim frowns, she seems to be the only one that's two steps behind from seeing the big picture. "You guys are going to have to help me out here. I understand that they kind of went crazy—you'd have to be to press the self-destruct button _voluntarily_—but I don't really understand what you two are saying," Jim admits, leaning forward. "It kind of seems like you're saying that they killed each other based on the fact that they were—annoyed by one another?"

"Not irritation, Captain, but rather, bewilderment. They lost their bearings," Dr. Dehner explains. "Imagine being born without a sense of smell, and suddenly one day you can. Then imagine being shoved in a cupboard with every smell known to man and being forced to endure them all at once. What they experienced was something similar, only it wasn't just smells, it was sights and sounds and thoughts. They could hear and feel and were aware of practically everything around them, right down to the smallest molecule. It's almost like being God. There are no limits to what you can do, what you know, what you can manipulate."

Jim begins to understand all too well what Dr. Dehner means. A slight feeling of dismay twists around in her guts. What of Mitchell then? If he were capable of doing exactly that, what did that mean for the rest of them? "And—if there was a survivor? Someone who managed to escape before the ship was destroyed? What then?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand the question, Captain," Dr. Dehner says with a small frown. "Is this what you believe? That there was a survivor?"

"Yes, I do. Someone managed to escape, and they returned to Earth without making one peep about the whole incident. I believe that there's an actual descendant of that person on this ship," Jim says as she picks up her glass of iced tea and downs it.

Dr. Dehner shakes her head and closes her leather-bound book. "Even if that were true, which I will confess that I am gravely doubtful, the actual assumption that these abnormal abilities could be inherited is nothing more than pure science fiction. It's just not possible. The individual that gained the psychokinesis by such synthetic means could not pass on the genetics of it no more than a person with a tattoo of a hummingbird can pass on that tattoo to their child."

Jim is wants to argue that even using the term science fiction in this day and age is just foolish. But she holds her peace because despite it all, Dr. Dehner has given them a lot to think about. "Thank you for your time—I think it's time we get going," she says, slipping into her heels again. She carefully stands as Spock does the same.

Dr. Dehner stands as well to see them to the door. "No problem at all, Captain. I've enjoyed investigating the tapes, and to be honest, I've always been interested in cases like these. I would even be willing to study the individual you believe possesses psychokinesis or some form of ESP. I'd be able to give you an in-depth evaluation on their behavior and activities."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I think it'll be safer if you remain unaware," Jim says, rubbing a hand over her stomach as she walks to the door with Spock in tow.

"I understand completely," Dr. Dehner says as she watches them step through her doorway. "Have a good evening—and Captain?"

"Yes?"

"Dr. McCoy mentioned that you might be interested in having a sit-down with me. I just wanted to clarify that if you are ever in need of it, my door is always opened for you," Dr. Dehner says with an encouraging smile.

Jim plasters on a smile in return. She was going to kill Bones. "I will definitely keep that in mind," she lies. "Good day. Mr. Spock." She walks on without waiting for him.

Spock falls into step beside her. "You are disconcerted by the Doctor's offer," he observes. He sounds genuinely curious, and Jim's not sure why that is.

"Try and understand, Spock. I'm a very simple person really. I don't like talking about my feelings. Especially not to someone who I barely know." Jim shrugs faintly because there's nothing more she can do about it.

"You have no intention of returning, even when she is more than qualified to adhere to your emotional needs?" Spock questions as they reach the end of the corridor and stop in front of the turbolift.

"Emotional needs," Jim snorts, cocking her head to gaze at him through her blonde bangs. She's not quite sure what kind of answer he's looking for from her. "I kind of feel like some kind of creature when you put it like that."

Spock straightens suddenly; it's amazing how perfect his posture is sometimes. "It was not my intention to offend, I merely—"

Jim interjects quickly and carefully, "I'm joking, Spock. I know you didn't." She sighs and scraps her fingernails across her stomach. "Look—I know people assume that because I'm a woman in command that it's such a hard pill for me to swallow, and yes, at times it is but I am more than capable of doing what needs to done without being emotionally compromised. Now off-duty—that's a whole other ballgame."

"Ballgame," Spock repeats flatly with a quirked eyebrow. It's slightly amusing.

"Illogical human metaphor," Jim explains without really clarifying. She finger combs her bangs out of her eyes as she goes on to say, "I'll put it to you like this—I know for a fact that I am a stellar Captain. But as a female in other situations…I pretty much can suck. Does that make sense?"

Spock merely inclines his head and Jim figures that's as good as a yes as she's going to get.

"Right then," Jim exhales, ready to move on. "I know I'm hijacking your day already but if you don't have anything else you have to get to…"

Spock clasps his hands behind him. "I have no imminent projects that require my immediate attention at this time."

Jim nods and opens the door to the turbolift. As they step on, she says, "I'd really like for us to swing by engineering and give Scotty a visit. Second to me, he knows this ship inside out. He'll want to know that someone's been tampering, plus we can discuss the possibility of introducing a new thread of code to the computer's security system."

"I am amenable to this suggestion," Spock responds, placing a great deal of space between.

"Good," Jim says, ignoring this gesture in favor of fidgeting instead. So what if he didn't want to stand near her? She can almost convince herself that these actions do not bother her in the least.

Jim scratches her stomach again.

888

They're able to locate Scotty in the engineering aft bay.

"Tampering? With my ship?" Scotty exclaims, waving the wrench in his hand almost wildly. He is not taking the news well.

Spock and Jim take a step back. Then Spock takes a further step away from her when their simultaneous movement brings them closer than intended.

Jim ignores it once more. She really, really does. "Easy there, Scotty. As far as we know, the tampering has only just fallen under the umbrella of our security systems. But in case not, that's why I'm telling you. I thought you should be warned so you can keep your eyes peeled," she explains as something wet and cold prods at her calf. She looks down and smiles at the beagle, which looks notably younger than the last time she's seen it.

Huh. Weird.

"Aye, I'll do more than keep me eyes peeled, Captain," Scotty proclaims. "If that devil has even corrupted me nacelles, I'll—"

"Scotty—uh—what's happened to the dog?" Jim asks, cutting Scotty's rant short as she lowers herself to pick the dog up. He's a lot heavier than he looks but his weight is otherwise manageable. "He looks—younger. Why does he look younger?" She keeps the beagle tucked under her left arm. He lifts his head and sniffs at her face, swiping his tongue at her chin making her chuckle.

"I've not a clue," Scotty confesses, lifting his newly bandaged hand to scratch the back of his head. "Wondered that myself."

"You think it has anything to do with where he'd been all this time?" Jim wonders, rubbing the beagle behind its thin floppy ears. The beagle rumbles in appreciation.

Scotty nods. "It's more than likely."

"Hm," Jim hums. She glances over at Spock who is studying the dog with rapt fascination. She grins. "This is a dog, Mr. Spock. Or if you prefer, which I could guess you would, you can classify him as canis lupus familiaris. They are favorable companions for us illogical humans."

Spock quirks an eyebrow. "I am familiar with the animal, Captain."

"Oh, well, just making sure," Jim says, ducking her head and hiding her grin. "Scotty was tuning our transporter pads when he popped up. He looked a lot more aged then. Actually he looked ready to die—which is why I asked you about what the protocols were for a pet dying on board a Starfleet vessel. Better safe than sorry I say."

"He's been giving me a hard time too. And he likes Keenser, no surprise there, they're one in the same if you look closely," Scotty says, squinting an eye at the beagle as the dog growls back at him. "Ah, get on you. I've not done a thing more than be kind, even when you go and pee wherever you please. My ship's no toilet!"

Jim chuckles and sets the beagle down, even though it whines unhappily. "Have you given him a name?"

"Oh no, Captain, I know what happens when you name the wee monsters. I'll not grow anymore attached to it than I would a shark," Scotty declares, wiping oiled covered fingers against his chin, causing yet another smudge to appear on his person.

"He can't be that bad," Jim argues, scraping her fingernails against the bottom of her right elbow.

"Aye, he's worse!"

Jim huffs and puts her hands on her hips, turning her gaze to Spock, who is still staring at the dog in rapt fascination. If Jim didn't know any better, she'd say that he was a secret animal lover. "What say you Mr. Spock? What name should we knight him with?"

Spock glances up with incomprehensible expression. "Captain?"

"Hypothetically speaking—if this were your dog, what would you name him?" Jim asks, watching him carefully.

"I have no need for a domesticated animal at this time," Spock replies, shoulders set and posture as straight as ever.

Jim rolls her blue eyes. "I know _that_. Hence the reason why I said it would be hypothetical." She glances down at the beagle, which cocks its head up, and at having her full attention, wags his tail happily. That causes her lips to twist into a small smile.

"In this matter—I believe it would be more suitable to leave the decision to you," Spock says, and when Jim looks up, she notices his dark eyes are studying her with unfathomable scrutiny. It makes something uncomfortable twist in her gut and her cheeks heat slightly with an almost-blush.

"Alright then," Jim murmurs, scraping her fingernails across her collarbone and around to the back of her neck. "Let's see…" she sighs as she looks down at the beagle. This is a little strange for her. She's never named an animal before. She dips in every category she can think of for something that fits the beagle perfectly. She doesn't want to name him something overly sentimental, especially not something closely related to her. Not wanting to overthink it, she decides on a particular name. "Max. I'd call him Max." She glances up at Spock (and definitely not for approval).

"Fitting," Spock states evenly and lowers his gaze to the dog.

Jim grins a little and looks down at the beagle. "And what say you? Does Max suit you just fine?"

Max barks once, twice, and then a third time for good measure.

Jim laughs and crouches down to rub his ears. "I'll take that as a yes," and she makes kissy faces at him, despite her audience (well not Scotty, he's too busy eating a sandwich). Max just barks happily and licks at her face. "Okay, okay." She pets him once more and stands to her feet, wobbling a little.

Spock reaches out, as if to steady her, but he stops dead, as if he thinks better of it, and clasps his hands behind him again. "Are you well, Captain?"

Jim feels her face flush, and it's not from embarrassment this time. She scratches at her left arm as her lips begin to swell painfully. Followed by her cheeks, and her ears, then her tongue. Her throat tightens—and fuck, Bones was going to kill her.

"Captain! You're face is swelling like a balloon!" Scotty exclaims, hopping to his feet. "She's having a nasty reaction to something Commander."

"Indeed," Spock responds, quickly catching Jim just as she begins to collapse. "I will escort her to the medical facilities."

Jim gasps, "Don't tell Bones I was eating anything. He'll stab me with hypos, and he'll like it."

Spock cocks his head and looks down at her. "Be silent, Captain," he says softly.

Jim gasps again. "Can't breathe—" and her eyes shudder to a close as her hand falls over her tightening throat. She hears Max barking unhappily and can feel hot hands lifting her up, cradling her to a warm chest just as darkness begins to swallow her. A small part of her notices the irony of it. He spent so much time trying to distance himself from her, but now they were as close as possible.

For that brief moment, when she feels that warmth that's tinged with the scent of sharp cinnamon, she feels absolutely safe.

Jim feels as if she could die like this and be unquestionably at peace.

888

Jim squints as her body rises through the mist and fog and up into the sunlight. There is fog and mist everywhere though, so she cannot tell where the sunlight is coming from. But it's everywhere, burning hotly into her peripheral vision and slicing rays through the clouds floating at different levels. Jim, herself, is standing on an endless cloud bank, naked as the day she was born and feeling virtually weightless.

Is this what death feels like?

A chuckle.

"No, no, _ma petite chouchou_—if you were dead, you would surely know," a voice says through the mist.

Jim squints, but the burning bright of the sun makes it impossible for her to see. "Who's there?" she asks, cupping a hand over her eyes.

There is another chuckle. "Just a friend. A dear, dear, friend."

Jim frowns and narrows her eyes, glancing to and fro trying to find a body to place with the voice.

"Oh, forgive me. I forget how sensitive you humans are to light." There is a distinct sound of fingers snapping and the light dims substantially. "Now," the voice sighs. "Isn't that better?"

Jim blinks, dropping her hand, able to see for the first time. It is better. As the mist clears, she's able to make out the tall and lean man with auburn hair and dark blue eyes and a mischievous grin. "Okay—why are you naked?" she asks, taking a step back as he steps in closer. She glances down. "Why am _I _naked?" She puts and arm over her bare breasts while her other hand cups her privates. "Am I in hell? I went to hell didn't I?"

"Rest assured, this is neither heaven or hell," the man says.

"Great," Jim mutters bitterly. "I'm trapped in purgatory. Even God doesn't know what to do with me."

The man chuckles again, snapping his fingers once more, and suddenly she's in a flowing silver silk gown while he's in, what looks to be, a pure silk, black sherwani. "There. That's better isn't it? Again, if you were dead, you would certainly know it, _ma petite chouchou_."

Jim fists the sides of her strapless silver silk gown and twists her head down to look at herself. "What the hell is going?" she asks looking up, and then blinking when she doesn't see him anymore. She twists around but he's nowhere in sight.

"I am merely seeking to intervene in a most disturbing sequence of events," the man says, popping up out of nowhere and settling to Jim's immediate right.

Jim jumps with a startled yelp and steps back. "Geez—can you not do that?" she snaps.

The man chuckles. "A thousand apologies. Please," he bows, hand outstretched as he cups hers and kisses the back of her hand. "My name is Q."

Jim yanks her hand back. "Well, _Q_, would you be so kind as to tell me where I am and why I'm here. Because the last time I checked, I was collapsing from a severe reaction to a food allergy."

"Ah, allergies. Such a bothersome business they be. You always did suffer quite unfortunately from them," Q replies whimsically, clucking his tongue in disapproval as he circles around her. The clouds under their feet move with every footstep.

Jim feels her eyebrow twitch in annoyance. "And how exactly would you know this? I don't believe we ever met."

"One question at a time, _ma petite chouchou. _And no we have not been formally introduced before now, but I have watched over you since the day your father planted his seed in your mother's womb," Q confesses as he circles her once more before saddling up to her left. Wrapping an arm over her shoulders and guiding her forward he says, "As for where you are—why, you are nowhere. We have stepped out of time and space—into the lands of the unknown where no one but the souls of men and the hearts of gods can venture. You should feel privileged James Tiberius Kirk, few have lived to see such a thing."

"Okay wait. You say I'm not dead, and yet—where I am is only a place that souls can cross?" Jim questions with a confused furrow of her eyebrows.

"I suppose your companions could be led to believe you have died—you _have _given up the ghost as they say. But here, a thousand days can be but one minute across the threads and interweaved lines of fate and time. I will not keep you here long, I need you but only for a moment so that I may explain why I chose to intervene in your destiny," Q says.

Jim wiggles out from under his arm to face him head on. "Intervene in my destiny? Just who are you?"

Q smiles warmly. "I am Q."

"I know that," Jim snaps. "But _what _are you?"

"I am, that I am."

Jim blinks. That sounds scarily alike to something she's read from Exodus in the bible.

Q cocks his head. "I am not Him. He is beyond me, beyond all of us, but I can see why you would assume this. Humans cannot comprehend what is. You know not because you seek not and you seek not because you do not ask that the eyes of your understanding be enlightened."

Jim may be a genius but Q is talking her down in circles. "Is it possible to get a spiritual headache? Because I swear I feel one coming on," she groans, dropping down to her knees and then plopping her butt back on the floor made of clouds. She folds her legs under her like a pretzel.

Q chuckles. "You amuse me. And what you feel is merely the instinctive memory of such pain that your physical body experienced." He clasps his hands behind his back and begins to circle her again. "There is not much I can say without giving away your true purpose. You already are aware of far too much, due to circumstances I had not foreseen. But fate and I have an understanding, so she is privy to my desires. We have witnessed the injustice experienced by the Vulcan race and we've plans to rectify this."

Jim stiffens. "What does this have to do with me?"

"Everything—and nothing."

Jim sighs long-sufferingly.

"Have you ever wondered why you were born as a female?" Q asks cryptically. "And if I were to tell you that this had not originally been your destiny?"

"I've heard this before, thanks. I know about the other universes and how I'm a guy in all of them except in the one I'm in now," Jim says, crossing her arms.

"Yes—I confess in having some part in that," Q says.

Jim whips her gaze up at him.

Q stops just behind her and stares off into some unknown point in the distance. "Have you any idea how fated you are? How incredibly capable you are of doing such great things and bringing about such extraordinary change, despite the fact that you are a woman?"

Jim didn't know how to take that. It is the most backhanded compliment if she'd ever heard one.

"We the Q do not care about such frivolous differences. Male—female. Black—white. Are we not all worthy of the egalitarianism?" Q begins to hover a few inches above the clouds thoughtlessly. "But I chose you to incite this change and correct the balance. There is an individual aboard your vessel that seeks what is forbidden to mankind. This cannot be, and so you will rectify this, _ma petite chouchou._"

"You mean Mitchell, right?" Jim says, standing to her feet and lifting her head to stare up at him. "He's the one responsible for all this isn't he?"

Q just smiles. "It is not as simplistic as it seems. I am afraid I cannot share no more than I already have without upsetting the scales of fate even further."

"But I'm here! And you're telling me things and showing me things and you've already cheated enough!" Jim points out angrily.

"This is true as well."

"Then what? What do you want for me?"

"I want only for you what you would have for yourself."

"Oh yeah? And what's that exactly?"

Q smiles suddenly. "This is a troubling question that has plagued you all your life, James. But have you not found the answer?"

Jim just stares at him. She's tired of talking in circles and she's certainly tired of his riddles.

"Fret not. I will do you a small kindness, and show you what shall be," Q replies. "Let me open the eyes to your understanding…"

Suddenly everything goes black, and Jim is back aboard her ship, standing at the doorway of her personal quarters. Before she can allow herself to be properly confused, the door slides open to reveal Spock. He's got this look of solid determination in his dark eyes, and Jim is a bit startled to be at the end of that gaze. Spock strides in without a word and Jim stumbles backwards, confused about what is happening. Spock matches Jim step for step until Jim finds the back of her couch pressing uncomfortably against her tailbone.

"Spock—what…?" Jim never gets a chance to finish this thought because Spock grabs her by the back of the neck and yanks her forward. Their lips meet and Jim's eyes widen a fraction with every passing second.

Spock is kissing her.

_Fucking **kissing**_her.

Jim makes a sound and grabs at Spock's upper arms. She totally means to push him away and ask what the hell is going on but there's a talented hot tongue sliding into her mouth and her fucking questions just explode inside of her brain. Spock bears his weight against her, pressing in closer, cornering Jim against the back of the couch with a firm grip on Jim's hips.

Spock is kissing her passionately—savagely—like he wants to suck Jim's very essence right out from her mouth. And Jim squirms and whimpers because fuck, Spock really knows what he's fucking doing. All thoughts of protests die because the blood needed to process said situation is gathering south and convening with her libido right between her legs.

Jim can't breathe, can't _breathe._

Spock seems to take pity on her and he pulls back far enough to rest his forehead against Jim's. They both just stand their, breathing raggedly and trying to gather their wits.

"_Ashayam—kal-tor t'nash-veh nam-tor don_," Spock murmurs, sliding his fingers through her hair, along the side of her neck and under her chin until they finally come to rest on her meld points.

Jim closes her eyes and shudders. "Yes," she breathes and just as she feels the first push, everything clears.

"Don't you look happy?" Q grins. "I take it you are pleased with my demonstration."

Jim blinks and looks around. She is back with Q in that stupid cloudy place with this stupid silky dress. What the fuck?

"Now do you see?" Q asks. "Whether he should want it or you should want it, you two will always be each other's destiny."

Jim has nothing to say to that. She's still too shaken by what happened before. How could he do that to her? She was just learning to accept things as they were without his fucking interference! "Send me back," she croaks, not caring how broken she sounds. She wants to return to her own reality and not some twisted and manipulated one that Q has forged.

Q's smile drops and he seems to realize that he might have gone too far. "James—"

"Send me back!" Jim shouts. "I don't care what your fucking agenda is or what my gender has to do with it or what my mere existence has to do with it. No one fucking decides what I will be but me. Do you understand that? You and fate can go screw each other. Send me back."

Q's expression falls into something unfathomable. "Is this truly what you wish? To be the chief of your own destiny?"

"Yes."

Q stares at her silently for a moment longer before he sighs. "Very well," he acquiesces. "It was not my intention to upset you. I had only hoped to—" Q stops short. "I had only hoped," he merely says.

Jim feels her lips tighten in a frown.

Q steps in closer and places a hand over her lower stomach, closing his eyes as he whispers something. His hand glows a pale red and Jim gasps her womb begins to convulse and spasm. "Let this be a token of my remorse. I am deeply sorry. I wish nothing but blessings for you." He opens his eyes and steps back.

Jim pants and frowns in confusion as she cups her hands over her stomach. She stares up at him with a question in her blue eyes.

Q smiles softly. "You and he shall understand when the time is right." He gives her a two-fingered salute. "Watch yourself, James. You will remain under the protection of my influence and that of fate, but per your wish, we shall no longer interfere, unless you explicitly call upon us. Unfortunately, you will not remember any of this until then."

Before Jim can protest it, the clouds spread under her feet and she's falling into a vacuum of light and space and time.

It's like being born again.

888

Jim eyes flutter open. She feels heavy and dazed, achy and drowsy. As her vision clears, she notices that she's lying in one of the biobeds in sickbay. The monitor that she's hooked up to clicks and beeps to life as she fully regains consciousness. She lifts her hand and presses it to her aching neck (Bones must have gone overboard this time, she knew he would) and takes a moment to glance around. Her eyes immediately zero in on Bones, who is sitting at her bedside in a chair, arms crossed and eyes closed in a light doze.

"Bones," Jim calls, but her voice comes out dry and raspy.

That doesn't seem to matter because Bones is up in a minute, hazel eyes widening in alarm. "Jim? What's the matter? Does somethin' hurt?" he asks, hopping to his feet. "Chapel!"

"Shh!" Jim hisses. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Calm down."

Bones stops dead and stares at her with more intensity than she's ever experienced from him. "Fine?" he rumbles, lips twisting in a scowl. "Your _fine_?"

Jim slowly eases into a sitting position. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"Jim—you were dead. For a goddamn hour!" Bones snaps.

Jim pales.

Chapel appears suddenly with Bones's tricorder and his PADD. She smiles at Jim kindly and hands her a glass of water.

"Thank you," Jim mutters, unable to meet Bones's red-rimmed eyes. It breaks her heart to think she'd made him cry.

Chapel scuttles off without a word, leaving the two of them alone.

Bones mutters furiously under his breath as he runs his tricorder up and down the length of her. His PADD pings with the results and after a minute or two of reading them, he sighs. "Well it seems you are fine. It doesn't make a lick of sense but I can't see a thing wrong. White cell count is a bit high, but that's to be expected. You did go into anaphylactic shock." He turns and seats himself in the chair by her bed again.

Jim cups her hands around the (now empty) glass over her lap. "Bones—what happened?"

"What do you remember?" Bones counters.

Jim frowns, vaguely trying to piece together her day. "The last thing I can recall is being down in engineering with Scotty and Spock. We were naming Scotty's dog and then, I couldn't breathe. I'm pretty sure I passed out after that."

Bones chuckles wryly. "If only, Kid." He lifts his hazel eyes and stares at her. "You didn't just pass out. You flat out died. Couldn't figure out why or how. You never reacted that badly—I mean you always react bad, just not to the point where your heart ain't even beatin' anymore."

Jim keeps quiet, not sure what to say to that.

"And you didn't just die for a minute or even ten. You were gone for an entire hour." Bones's voice grows tight and Jim is afraid he might cry again. She doesn't know what she'll do if he does. "I was damn near ready to call it. I would've had to sit in my office and do the papers on _you, _Jim. Not just any patient." He shudders. "Then you just—you started breathin' again. No other way I can explain. You just came back. And I'm not much of a God-fearin' man but I was ready to believe anythin' in that moment."

Jim slides forward until her feet dangle off the edge of the biobed and she cups a hand over his shoulder. "I—I'm sorry, Bones. I didn't mean to go and scare you like that by dying on you."

Bones quickly scrubs at his eyes with a bitter snort. He exhales shakily before he places his hand over hers. "Don't apologize, Jim. I knew—I knew that this would be apart of it when I signed on with you. But havin' it actually happen—there ain't nothin' that could have ever prepared me for the reality of it. I mean—_Christ_, Jim. You came back. I don't even want to think about what could've happened to you if I hadn't made myself check again."

Jim nods sympathetically. "I would have done the same. We're two peas in a pod, you and I. We're both stubborn idiots who wont let go until we'll absolutely sure."

Bones sighs. "Yes, well—let's both agree to keep the dyin' to a minimum."

Jim grins with a wink. "Deal."

"How do you feel?" Bones asks, straightening and putting on his Doctor Face.

Jim leans back with a shrug. "Alright. Despite things. My neck hurts a bit." She throws him an accusing look. "Where's—uh—where's Spock?"

"Hobgoblin left off the minute he carried you in. Haven't seen him since," Bones says, standing to his feet.

Jim tries not to feel disappointed. "I can leave right?"

"Not till you tell me what got you here in the first place," Bones says with a firm scowl. "I'm sure I told you not to eat at that weddin' didn't I?"

"And I didn't!" Jim says quickly. "It must have been when Spock and I went to go see Dr. Dehner. Did you know she thought we were there for couple's therapy? Spock looked like he'd chewed on a lemon."

Bones's lips twitch faintly. "Oh I can imagine, but back to the point, Kid. What _did _you eat?"

"She made some iced tea and shortbread cookies. They had chocolate on them though—how could I resist that?" Jim argues but Bones does not look sympathetic in the least. "So—okay, I might remember seeing bits of red spots in them."

"Strawberry or cherry?" Bones asks.

Jim ducks her head and looks up at him through lowered lashes. "Will you be mad if I say that it wouldn't really matter because I'm allergic to both?"

Bones swears colorfully. "And still you shoved them in your greedy little mouth?"

"Chocolate, Bones! They are my kryptonite. I could barely pay attention to anything else," Jim says.

"So it's all fun and games until you give your best friend a heart attack by dyin', when at worst, you should have been unconscious for no more than thirty minutes!" Bones points out.

Jim snaps her mouth shut because she has nothing to argue against that. It is extremely strange. She'd never had a near death experience from any of her food allergies before. And if she had died for an hour, shouldn't she have ventured off into the great beyond? She doesn't remember anything but darkness. It had been like she was asleep—and boy was that depressing if that was the case. That's not much of an afterlife to look forward to if it was.

"Anybody else know that I was dead?" Jim asks suddenly.

"I had Chapel shoo everyone out when it was clear you weren't comin' back after the first ten minutes. Word might have spread, but no one's been down here asking questions," Bones says. "Though—I did get a buzz from Sarek, don't know how he could have known though but I'll tell you this—that was not a pleasant back and forth. It was like dealin' with an angry father, only you could never prove that he was ever angry. It's just the way he—I don't know, Kid—but you're gonna have to call him the first chance you get. Look's like I'm not the only one that's been snared by your charms."

"Oh perfect," Jim groans, hiding her face in her palms.

"Can't say I envy you," Bones chuckles, but then his mouth twists into a scowl. "Looks like you got a visitor," he grumbles.

Jim frowns and twists her body to follow Bones's line of sight.

Spock is standing in the doorway, hands folded behind him. He's sporting his usual expressionless guise but his dark eyes are assessing her openly with a vague hint of concern.

"Don't crowd the doorway," Bones grouches as he wanders off toward his office, leaving them alone.

"You are recovered?" Spock questions as he steps fully into the room and approaches her with careful steps.

Jim gives a one-shouldered shrug. "I think so, but Bones hasn't said whether or not he'll cut me loose."

"I see," Spock merely says, stopping at the end of the biobed. "There has been some speculation about the current status of your—health. The crew believes you to be deceased."

Jim snorts. "Yeah, I heard that I kind of did die for a good hour." She lowers her gaze down to her cup. "I don't think Bones will ever stop reminding me."

Spock says nothing to that.

"Thank you, by the way—for carrying me here," Jim says as she brings her gaze up again. "And thanks _are _necessary in this case."

Spock looks vaguely amused. "I had not intended to dispute it."

Jim doesn't quite believe that. "Where did you go—you know—after?" And fuck, Jim had totally not meant to ask that, as if she had expected him to stay, but it was too late and the question was out in the open.

Spock hesitates with his reply, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Through our physical contact, I became receptive to your—emotions. I found myself unsettled and was forced to seek immediate meditation."

Vulcan Translation: _You caught me off-guard. I felt you die and that freaked me out._

"Ah," Jim says. "Sorry about that."

"Apologies are unnecessary, Captain. It is illogical to place blame when blame is not due," Spock retorts. "I advise you, however, to be more cautious with accepting offered food."

And he's back to being an asshole again. Jim sighs. "Between you and Bones, I'm going to starve every time I go to a party or event or to any kind of get-together. Can I help that I have a hypersensitivity when it comes to most things?"

"No you can not, but this fact still requires a great deal of consideration," Spock says, like it's just that easy.

Jim scowls. "What about diplomatic missions? What do I do then? It's pretty offensive to the host when their guests refuse their food."

"It is illogical to risk your well-being in order to appease the emotions of another," Spock says firmly. "As First Officer, I will not allow this."

Jim blinks, feeling properly chastised.

"As acting Captain, it is not only your duty to maintain the welfare of your crew, but above all else, yourself," Spock continues. "Have you not assured me that you can make logical command decisions without being emotionally compromised?"

Jim nods, not sure she can speak.

"Then shall I continue to trust that you will continue to be capable of your role without my interference?"

Jim nods again.

"Very well," Spock says. "If and when we should happen upon a race that will seek to bestow us with any kind of food offering, you will politely decline and explain why. I am certain that with the proper explanation, they will come to understand why you choose not to partake."

Jim nods again.

Spock's shoulders relax just a fraction. "We have yet to discuss the matter of the current state of the Enterprise's security systems. Are you well enough for this discussion?"

Jim stupidly nods again.

Spock lowers his hands and reveals a PADD with a half finished code that he has already started. As they get to work on it for the next couple of hours, both of them respectfully ignore how easy it is to interact with one another when they aren't grating on each other's nerves.

Talk about running scared.

The term 'ignorance is bliss' only works for so long.

888

Bones actually keeps her until the next morning. And Spock had been no help by agreeing that it was a 'logical precaution'. Men sucked when they banded together against her, Jim swears by this. It wasn't all bad. Bones kept her company when Spock left, and he even let her pick and choose what she wanted to eat for dinner and dessert. It wasn't until she was getting ready to settle in for the night, did she understand the real reason behind Bones's kindness. He totally sets her up by shoving her in his office to face a very unhappy Sarek, who is displayed on the monitor on Bones's desk with a very tight expression. Sarek had never chastised her before but he certainly did then. It took her _two hours _to convince him that she really was all right and, though she's never died from it, explains that her food allergies have always been a hassle. She couldn't recall how many times she had apologized for her recklessness and promised that she wouldn't act so carelessly again.

Sarek is convinced after a while, and the conversations end with a promise that she will contact him again within the week.

Pushy Vulcans.

When Jim finally could go to bed, she bitched and moaned at Bones for selling her out like that until he was forced to sedate her to put an end to all her whining. That had been all apart of the plan. Sure she could have just asked him but that wasn't her style when she was looking for payback. She woke up the next morning with a scowl on her face and a familiar pain in her pelvis.

"Forgot to mention—your ovulation starts today," Bones chimes as he stands at the end of the biobed with a dark grin.

Jim squeezes her thighs together and slams a pillow over her head. "Fuck off, Bones."

Bones clicks his tongue disapprovingly. "Would but we don't need you gettin' pregnant," he retorts. "When you're ready to get over yourself, you can leave. I already took care of everythin' so I suggest you get outta here before I find a reason to keep you."

Jim quickly pops up and hops off the biobed. He would not have to tell her twice.

Bones grabs her by her elbow when she tries to sprint out. "Hold on a minute there, Jimmy."

"Awe, _come on, _Bones. You said I could leave," Jim whines.

Bones silences her with a glare. "Since this is your special woman time—you know the drill. Whole grain breads, get plenty of calcium—milk, yogurt and cheese, keep it simple. Double your rations on water and vegetables. Try and eat as much salmon as you can. I don't want you snackin' on apples either—substitute them for soy beans and tofu. It'll have to do since your allergic to nuts, and those have the perfect amount of magnesium—that'll help keep the bloating down. Oatmeal, potatoes and orange juice, Jim and don't look at me like that, not at the same time of course. No sugar, no caffeine and that means no chocolate. You'll survive the week without it—and no alcohol."

Jim makes a displeased face. "You suck the fun from everything."

"You'll thank me when you try for kids one day," Bones counters, soundly completely confident in this assumption.

"Yeah, but that's what adopting is for," Jim grins mischievously. "Though to be honest, can you really say you can see me as a mom?"

Bones gives her this strange look, as though he's wondering why she would even have to question it. "Course I can, Kid. I'm sure you'd make for a great mom," and he sounds so ridiculously genuine when he says this.

Jim smiles softly and crowds into his space. "Just when I think I can't love you more, Bones," she murmurs and wraps her arms around his neck, pressing her cheek to his as he stiffens.

"Alright, alright, give me some air," Bones grouches as he reluctantly pats her on the back.

Jim grins at how flustered he always gets by her affection. She throws Chapel a wink as the blonde nurse watches them curiously. Just to stir things up, she presses her lips to Bones's ear and whispers, "Hey Bones, just so you know—I'm going to eat a fucking piece of chocolate if I want to."

"Jim…" Bones growls.

Jim just laughs and pulls away completely. "Catch you later. Bye Nurse Chapel," she calls out as she exits sickbay, but not before she catches how even more flustered Bones gets when he realizes that Chapel had been present to witness that display the whole time.

Jim decides that moment that she totally won podium for payback.

"Keptin!" Chekov is waving enthusiastically at her as he steps off the turbolift at the other end of the corridor.

"What's up Chekov?" Jim asks as comes to a stop before her.

Chekov is studying her with concerned brown eyes. "I was just on my way to come and visit you. I was—" He hesitates as he glances around. "I was hearing that you were unwell."

"Chekov, I can assure you. Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I'm fine—I just had a nasty reaction to some food I ate," Jim explains.

Chekov nods fervently. "I am thinking this much." He straightens suddenly and says, "Keptin, if you have no plans, I would like to discuss something with you."

"Sure thing, we can do that right now if you want," Jim says.

"No, not here. We go back to personal quarters and I show you Hikaru. He will join this discussion," Chekov says, leading her to the turbolift.

Jim is curious, so she silently follows. They manage to make it to Chekov's personal quarters after fifteen minutes. They are delayed by people who want to gape and stammer in shock, not sure if they're staring at their Captain's ghost or not. Jim handles it the way she can, which is to grin and assure any who ask that she is perfectly fine and that she's not going anywhere.

Jim doesn't feel as if most of them are concerned, she's only been Captain for about a good week.

_They were probably well on their way to throwing a party, _Jim thinks bitterly.

"Here were are," Chekov chirps happily as they step through into his personal quarters. He guides her over to his work desk before Jim can really take the time to observe everything. They plop down in their seats, side by side, and Chekov adjusts his desk monitor. "I am aware of Mitchell, so I am taking extra precaution with security."

Jim is surprised by this. "Commander Spock told you about Mitchell?"

Chekov's twists thoughtfully. "Ah—no. I am learning this through Hikaru. He talked to the Commander and he is saying that you and Commander are suspicious that Mitchell may be very bad man and is tampering with security on ship and—other things." He turns suddenly as Sulu appears across the screen of the monitor. His brown eyes light up. "Hikaru!"

Sulu's lips slowly stretch into a lazy grin. "Pasha," he replies softly. He pauses to blink, as though he realizes Jim's existence for the first time. He flushes a little. "Captain Kirk," he greets with an apologetic smile.

Jim smirks. "Sulu—how are things?"

"Better. My dad's getting there," Sulu says but even he doesn't sound too convinced by his own words. "It doesn't make much sense. My dad's always been healthy, you know? And then for him to just...collapse." Sulu shakes his head with a sigh. "Doesn't add up. So my mom and I paid to have him looked over by several doctors." Sulu picks up his PADD. "I'm going to forward the results to you. I think you should really see this."

Chekov's PADD pings. "Keptin." He hands it over.

Jim accepts it and looks through the slideshow of x-rays and CAT scans. She frowns and leans forward when she notices the differences in several of them.

"Five of them are from the checkup he had late last year. My dad's a health nut like that, he goes to the doctor several times during the year to make sure things are in the up and up and usually they are. But the next fifteen after that are after he had his heart attack." Sulu sounds severely unsettled. "Captain—Jim—they've all said the same thing. Doesn't even look like my dad's heart. It almost like he downgraded or at least ended on the screwed end of some freak heart transplant gone wrong."

Jim quickly flips through the selection of x-rays and CAT scans, but it's only as she fears. The progress steadily declines. "He's not getting better is he?" she asks quietly without looking up.

Sulu exhales a shuddering breath and even the mere sound of it breaks Jim's heart. "His heart is collapsing into itself—do you hear that? Like a black hole. Heart attacks don't do that. It's like there's this fist around his heart and every day it's squeezing and tightening and my dad—he's in so much pain. There's only so much they can do for the pain without actually overdosing him."

Jim glances up and her frown deepens with concern at the wrecked look on Sulu's face. She hadn't noticed before, but now she can see just how much this is effecting him. There are purpled bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep and his hair is at a disarray as though he's been tugging at it, and maybe he has. He's also unshaven and fidgety.

"Then Chekov mentions that your on your way to the Neutral Zone—as well as other things," Sulu confesses.

Jim glances at Chekov who flushes.

"Sorry Keptin, I will accept punishment for doing this," Chekov says, sounding very serious.

Jim snorts. "It's okay, Chekov—well it's not okay, I'm sure you've breached protocol but since it was Sulu and not some civilian—then again Sulu is a civilian at the moment," she pauses with a frown. "I had a point to that, I'm sure."

"You were going to say that it was my fault because I practically bribed it out of him, and you'll let him off with a warning because you know he can be cautious when it really matters," Sulu carefully suggests.

Jim quirks an eyebrow, causing Chekov to stifle a chuckle. Seriously—why do people laugh at her when she lifts her eyebrows? "Yeah, sure. That seems fair, especially when it seems like there's something you want to tell me."

"I do," Sulu confirms, looking grave again. "When Chekov told me about what was going on, I had this random thought—maybe not so random, but about a while back—the night before we were to be commissioned, Uhura, Chekov and I went to this bar about a mile away from Starfleet Academy. We were drinking our way through our fifth round when I volunteered to by the next round. I go over to the bar when who should approach me but Mitchell."

Jim feels her eyebrows shoot up as she leans forward even more, making an encouraging gesture with her hand for him to continue.

"I didn't think much of it at first—he just made some comment about recognizing my face. A lot people were doing that, I suppose we did save the Earth and that kind of attention just comes with the territory," Sulu says as he smiles wryly. "He seemed pretty wasted too, because the next thing I knew, he was promising that he'd treat the Enterprise just like his own flesh and blood, just till I got back. He starts talking about how qualified his is and how longs he's waited for this kind of opportunity. I shrugged it off—I mean the guy's drunk and drunks usually spout random bullshit like that." Sulu takes a moment to shrug. He gaze dulls into something complacent. "Next thing I know is that I'm stumbling back to my dorm, only to have two officers waiting for me so they can break the news that my old man's pretty worse for wear and that when I reported for duty the next morning, I'd have a replacement for my relief."

"And it was Mitchell," Jim murmurs.

Sulu nods. "Like I said, I didn't think anything of it. How could I when I was too busy trying to comprehend that my father—the healthiest old man I know—had a heart attack?"

Jim nods sympathetically.

Sulu smiles bitterly. "When he relieved me, you know what he says? He says that he hopes my dad pulls through. What the fuck is that? How would he even know when I barely found out myself? And I know protocol. Even if a member of Starfleet to be assigned as my relief approached him, they just wouldn't share personal details about the person that is to be relieved, so he couldn't have been told. But the comment didn't even process until a week later when I'm knee deep in test results that all confirm what I've been fearing from the beginning. So I comm Commander Spock, because—something just isn't right about all this. And, well, that turned into an interesting conversation." He holds Jim gaze. "I believe Mitchell's bad news too, Jim."

Jim sighs, pressing her fingers to her mouth. "I kind of thought that maybe he wasn't on this ship by mere coincidence. Seems like the evidence is piling up against him."

"I don't know what he plans to do, or why he might have wanted to manipulate things so he would end up on the Enterprise specifically, but I can't imagine it's anything good," Sulu reasons.

"It may be as the Keptin has said. We will get answers from unregistered ship," Chekov says. "The persons aboard may know why or will help us to understand."

"It'll be a gamble, but I haven't been able to think of any other way," Jim explains. "We don't have anything concrete linking Mitchell to all these circumstances and until we do, we can't charge him with a thing. It'll be mostly hearsay and that never holds up well in court."

"I wish I could do more, Jim, I really do. All I can say is good luck and be careful." Sulu eyes linger on Chekov as he says this.

"You have helped, more than you know. You've given me even more to consider," Jim assures. "You just get some rest and focus on your family—that's what's important."

Sulu nods with a small grateful smile. He says a brief goodbye before the screen goes blank.

Jim and Chekov sit in silence.

"What now Keptin?" Chekov asks after a while.

Jim shrugs. "Now—we wait. And between you and I, and I mean this Chekov, you can't repeat what I'm about to say—but if worse comes to worse, I'll just have to get the answers from Mitchell myself."

"Answers, Keptin?" Chekov questions with a cute expression of confusion.

Jim gives a one-shouldered shrug as she eyes Chekov's PADD. "Maybe if I get close enough to him and gain his trust, he'd be willing to spill a few secrets." She lifts her eyes and meet his own. "Seduction has its usefulness."

Chekov looks uneasy, and maybe its because he realizes that she is being completely serious.

888

That night, Jim has the computer locate Mitchell.

"_Lieutenant Commander Gary Mitchell is located in Officer Training Center, deck 8._"

So that's where Jim goes, in nothing but some skin tight, red yoga shorts and matching sports bra (she does want to gain his attention after all).

Mitchell is easy to spot once she steps into the training room. He's jogging on one of the treadmills, earplugs on and connected to his PADD. He's has nothing but a pair of sweats on (besides his running shoes of course). His chest is gleaming with sweat and there is a group of female officers huddling amongst themselves, giggling and chatting and ogling him shamelessly from the other side of the room. They were being completely obvious about it, hanging all over the workout equipment they weren't even using but utilizing them more as an excuse.

Jim sighs and contains an instinctive eye roll. Damn Mitchell and his devilishly good looks.

_At least this will make this whole seduction thing a bit easier, _Jim mentally reasons. Yup—Bones was going to kill her for this.

Jim waltzes over to the middle of the room, pretending to be unaware that Mitchell is behind her as she spreads out her dark purple yoga mat and begins a series of stretches. She keeps her eyes down towards the ground as she bends over provocatively to stretch out her calves. It's not long before she feels a pair of eyes burning up her backside.

_That's it. Eyes on me Mitchell._

Jim slowly descends to the ground in a split, twisting to and fro before she brings her legs together and rolls onto her stomach over her yoga mat. Keeping her lower body to the ground, she slowly exhales as she pushes up with her hands as if to do a lazy push up, she curls her body as her spine curves into a wide L-shape. She juts her chin and lifts her head to face the ceiling.

In and out. In and out. Jim keeps her breathing steady as she listens for Mitchell's footsteps. She can still hear him running but it is obvious that she has caught his attention because his rhythm sounds slightly off. To reel him in, Jim slowly moves on her hands and knees, winding inwardly until she curls herself into the fetus position.

The sound of the treadmill halting abruptly says that Jim definitely has him now. She uncurls from the fetus position and turns onto her back just as a Mitchell's shadow falls over her. She brings her right leg up, folding it at the knee and holding on with her laced fingers. She brings the leg towards her stomach and meets Mitchell's burning gaze. "It's rude to stare and hover over people," she says nonchalantly.

Mitchell grins. "I'm only here to offer my assistance," he explains, dropping to his knees beside her and surveying her with wolf-like hunger.

"Assistance?" Jim echoes skeptically.

Mitchell nods and moves around her until he's kneeling right by her ass. "With your stretching," he clarifies, batting her hands away so that he can grab her right leg, pull it up and press it against his sweaty chest.

Jim cringes. "You're wet."

Mitchell only winks coyly as he places one hand on her thigh and the other around the back of her ankle. He leans forward carefully. "Tell me if I'm hurting you," he murmurs, eyeing her with deep scrutiny.

"Oh—so you do care how I feel," Jim retorts.

"Never claimed I didn't," Mitchell replies just as easily as his gaze drops to her chest.

Jim snorts bitterly. "Right. You care more about what's under my clothes than about what my favorite color is."

"You know it hurts to hear you say that," Mitchell says, eyes flicking up to hers again. He grins mischievously. "It's brown by the way."

"What is?"

"Your favorite color."

"Sure of yourself aren't you?"

"Around a woman like you, I have to be. You don't care much for the weak-willed sort," Mitchell says knowingly.

It's remarkable how confident he is in his assumptions, but it's even more unsettling that he's absolutely right. Jim's never encountered someone who might have the ability of ESP or psychokinesis, and she's slightly worried he can read her thoughts.

_Best to distract him if this is the case,_ she thinks.

Jim lifts her hands over her head and grips the edge of her map. "You don't have to be gentle. I'm pretty flexible," she replies nonchalantly.

Mitchell's grin darkens as he presses his weight down fully until they are face to face and her toes are skimming the mat over her right shoulder. "Hm—you are flexible." His eyebrows jump suggestively.

"Don't be a pig," Jim says and tries to lean away when he ducks in closer. "And you'd better not kiss me."

"Why? Worried I'll spoil your reputation? Trust me, I haven't heard them speak your praises so far so I doubt you'll have that to worry about it," Mitchell says carelessly.

Jim feels her mouth shrivel into a frown and before he can blink she changes their position and has him pinned to the ground with her hand pressing around his neck. "I don't care much for rumors," she says matter-of-factly.

Mitchell doesn't even look bothered in the least by the turn of events. He tucks his hands behind his head with that stupid self-satisfied grin. "Despite what they may say, I'll have to disagree. I do enjoy a woman on top after all," he says with a leer.

"You know you are just unbelievable. Only someone who lacks a brain would even attempt to come on to their superior so boldly," Jim replies.

Something in Mitchell's expression shifts and before she knows it, he's completely reversed their positions, pinning her face down to the floor. He lowers his lips to the shell of her ear as he whispers, "And just who are you in that scenario, hm? My superior?"

Jim struggles slightly, uncomfortable with the way his weight bares down on her from behind like this. "Am I not your Captain?" she counters.

Mitchell's fingers skate along her sides as his grin presses into her neck. "Captain? Absolutely. Superior—well, that's an entire different debate I'm afraid. Nice tattoo by the way, very interesting choice."

Jim catches him by surprise by bucking him off roughly. They go rolling across the floor, trying to get some leverage on each other. The murmurs around the training room alerts Jim to the audience they've gained. After a few more tucks and rolls, Jim manages to pin him to the ground by locking his head between her thighs as she pins down his hips with her hands.

"What exactly does superior mean to you, huh? Obviously something different than the word Captain," Jim pants, struggling to keep him still as he tries to pry her thighs open and buck them onto their sides but she manages to keep him in this hold.

Mitchell huffs in frustration. "I could argue the difference, yes. One of them being that the word superior preludes to the idea of there being a submissive, and I, certainly, do not submit." He bucks again before completely going slack. "You should try me on for size, Captain. I'd make it worth your while," and the fucker actually has the audacity to slap her right on her ass.

Jim can't be blamed for her instinctive reaction, which is to sucker punch him right in his dick. He makes a winded sound as she rolls off of him just in time to witness him groan and curl into the fetal position as he cups his prized jewels. "I believe I just made it worth _your _while," she retorts as she gathers to her feet.

Some of the females clap while the males shake their head in sympathy.

"_Bridge to Captain Kirk._"

Jim frowns and swipes her communicator off the floor. "Kirk here."

"_Commander Spock requests your presence in the transporter room immediately._"

"Acknowledged. Let him know I'm on my way. Kirk out." Jim grabs her mat and rolls it up. "We should do this again sometime, Mitchell. I quite enjoyed that," and she leaves without waiting for a response. She quickly scuttles back to her quarters to change into her uniform before heading to the bridge. As she exits the turbolift and strides through the corridor, she picks up the pace. It isn't long before she's joining Scotty and Spock in the transporter room, along with Cupcake and a few more security officers. "Mr. Spock?"

"Our arrival into the Neutral Zone will be sooner than anticipated," Spock clarifies. "Position, three minutes from Outpost four at this velocity, Captain."

Jim understands all too well what that means. If things go well, they could successfully extract whatever crew there may be on the unregistered class J vessel—if the vessel in question existed at all. "All apart of the gamble," she mumbles thoughtfully to herself. More loudly, she says, "Mr. Scott—contact the bridge and issue red alert."

"Aye, Captain." Scotty gets to work with taking over the main transporter console.

A second later, the alarm sounds and the announcement is made. "_Bridge to all decks, condition red alert. Bridge to all decks, condition red alert._"

Jim takes a steady breath and waits. This could very well be the deciding moment in all things.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_ You should comment, because your comments were the only reason I decided to make myself see this chapter through the end._


	6. Chapter 7

**Chapter 5**

In the transporter room, at the bottom of the steps of the transporter platform, Jim stands and waits. Scotty is manning the main transporter console and Spock is standing at parade rest behind him, peering over Scotty's shoulder to supervise the proceedings. Cupcake and his two lackeys stand back, right at the doorway, and wait silently as well.

Silence. That's all there is. Besides the whirring and beeping and chirping of the consoles—nothing but her ship talking in the stead of their own muted voices. Everyone is thinking, this is a palpable thing, and Jim's good with discerning atmospheres.

There's tension in the transporter room and a gleam of anxiousness that follows. She's prepared to expect the unexpected and she's satisfied to know that the rest of her crew is as well. She knows they're only a minute from the Neutral Zone, and though she'd like to be on the bridge when they arrive, she knows its best that she's here instead. Besides, if there is a real emergency, she'll be more than happy to take her place on bridge if needed.

As is, she'll have to be the silence breaker.

"Mr. Scott, patch me through to the bridge," Jim says as her thoughts shift in the direction of strategy.

"Aye, Captain."

"Lieutenant Hanley."

"_Yes ma'am?_"

"See if you can't get a full scan on Romulan space. We don't need to be caught unaware, and also, try and see if you can get any communication with any Starfleet outposts in the area."

"_Aye, Captain._"

Spock chimes, in that monotone, business-like quality of his, "Thirty seconds to Neutral Zone, Captain."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Jim nods at him and straightens, cocking back her shoulders with a ready firmness.

"_Captain—there are no replies from any of the four outposts sir. They're all radio silent._"

Jim frowns. The forged report she had received had been somewhat true. The ship rocks a little as it slides out of warp and sails more slowly into the Neutral Zone. "Lieutenant Hanley, what can you see?" she asks.

"_Nothing, Captain. There's nothing. Nothing but debris and chunks of rock._"

With a completive furrow of his brows, Spock instructs, "Referring to the map on your screens, Lieutenant—you will note beyond the moving position of our vessel, a line of Earth outpost stations."

"_I do not Commander. We're looking at them now. Though I'm not sure what it is we should be looking for._"

Jim clarifies, "Since they monitor the Neutral Zone, they would have been constructed on asteroids. Check once more for me Lieutenant Hanley, do you see anything?"

_"Nothing, Captain._"

Spock angles his stance so that he is facing Jim. "Then it would appear that there had been some truth to your initial findings, Captain."

"That's what I feared," Jim sighs and then refocuses her thoughts on strategy. "We can't know for sure that this attack was done by the hands of a Romulan vessel. We're still under the pressure of upholding the treaty. We can defend ourselves, but that's not a sufficient reason to trespass into their territory."

"A cautious approach would be most wise," Spock concurs. "We need not give them any incentive to act hostile."

Jim agrees, completely. She doesn't want to be labeled as the first female captain of the Enterprise who brought about interspace war. How's that for a reputation? "Lieutenant Hanley, what of the readings?" she inquires.

"_We swept the area of outpost one and two. Sensor reading indefinite. Double-checking outpost three and four_." Brief pause. "_Captain it's the same. We read only dust and debris. Both Earth outposts gone, and the asteroids they were constructed on, pulverized."_

Jim quietly curses.

Spock gives her a disapproving look.

Jim sighs and hopes that there will be a point when she is used to them. Thinking its unlikely, she rubs her pointer finger over the arch of her right eyebrow as she says, "Alright, how about any ships? Do you pick up any sensor readings—I don't care if it's small."

"_Checking, Captain._" Brief pause. "_Nothing. It's completely cold out there._"

Jim and Spock glance at each other, and for a second, there's this shared thought. Is the unregistered ship even real at all?

"_Wait—Captain we pick up a class J vessel with no registration beam._"

"Fantastic," Jim mutters with a grin. She can revise her strategy now. "Mr. Scott, if we can get close enough, do you think you can beam them aboard?"

"Certainly, Captain," Scotty chimes, working his hands over the console with expert grace. You would think that Jim had asked him to make his favorite type of sandwich.

Jim lifts her hands and gestures to Cupcake and his lackeys. "Lieutenant Giotto, I need you and your men at the ready. We don't know quite what we're dealing with but we need to be prepared for any and all scenarios."

Cupcake gives a firm nod and grunts some orders to his two lackeys, who fall on either side of him as they march up to the bottom steps of the transporter platform. They stand right behind her, like red knights poised to strike.

Jim dutifully steps aside to give them the proper advantage and more in Spock's range. Spock moves—predictably—and widens that space. Again, she just ignores it for the time being. She'll take time to be offended and irritated later. "Lieutenant Hanley, I'm ordering you to pursue that vessel. Inform Mr. Scott when you're in close enough so that he can work his magic," she instructs.

"_Acknowledged, Captain. Issuing pursuit._"

"Captain, is it wise to beam them aboard without first finding means to communicate with them?" Spock questions, eyebrows furrowing.

Jim flattens her hands along the edge of her uniform dress before she replies, "Certainly not, Mr. Spock. I have this hunch, you see—despite what's been reported by the Lieutenant. I don't accept the fact that we are completely alone out here." She levels her eyes with his as he peers at her thoughtfully. "Four outposts are demolished, and we're just supposed to believe that whoever did it just went on about their merry way?" She shakes her head. "Best to snag the bait quietly."

"Indeed?" Spock retorts with a raised eyebrow. Though his stoic expression gives no hint of it, she can tell that he's skeptical of this theory.

"Trust me," Jim whispers.

Spock replies, "It is not my lack of trust that vexes me."

Jim frowns, a bit taken aback by this admission. Now she's stuck in silence, unsure what she should say to that.

Scotty decides to pipe up in that moment. "Captain! We've locked onto something. I've got three life signs here. I'll pull them in, shall I?"

Jim sighs and bottles up any thoughts or feelings in relation to her confusing First Officer. She gives Scotty a confirming nod and in the next second, when the white light fades, three children are left standing on the transporter pads. They quickly crowd together and back away in fear.

Everyone silently marvels.

Jim can spot the differences in age immediately. "Stand down," she whispers, pressing her hand over the phasers her security team has poised. She knows they aren't trying to be threatening; they are just frozen in shock. They slowly lower them and commence their gaping.

The boy, who is standing in the middle, hugged the other two under each of his arms as they all huddle together defensively. The boy looks tall enough to reach Jim's chin but also young enough to be somewhere around thirteen or fourteen. He has sandy brown hair that was coifed in a way that vaguely reminded Jim of Elvis in his younger days. And how weird is that to make that kind of comparison?

The two girls under his arms were twins, and his sisters no doubt—there is no mistaking the resemblance—and Jim guesses they are about ten or eleven years old. They're both sporting unkempt bangs and long wavy, sandy brown hair that falls short of their waist. All of the brown-eyed children have on tattered clothes, no shoes and look as if they'd been rolling around in dirt. They look tired too—frightened and tired—and if Jim had to make another guess, she'd say they were hungry. They look frail and pale, as though it's been months since they last seen the light of day. Then, strangely enough, they just relax. They meet every eye in the room in a sort of assessing way—as if to judge if they are in good company—and they must realize something because their stance becomes more confident. They let go of each other and stand individually.

"Mr. Spock," Jim says gently. "Would you please contact Dr. Dehner and Dr. McCoy? Tell them their presence is required immediately in the transporter room."

"Yes, Captain," is Spock's swift reply.

"Mr. Scott, scan every bolt if you have to of that ship. Make sure they were the only ones alive, and even if not—check anyway. I don't want to send a scout team if there's something unfriendly waiting for us," Jim says. "No one goes aboard without my say so."

"Aye, Captain," Scotty says, reaching forward and pressing a few translucent panels on his consol. "Scott to bridge—I need some eyes and ears. If you can manage a once over in your readings…"

Jim turns to one of Cupcake's lackeys and snaps her finger at him. "You—go get me three oranges. Make sure they're thick."

"Uh—yes, ma'am!" and away he goes, doing exactly as she asked, no matter how weird the request.

"Mr. Giotto, I think you two can hang back for a moment. There's no threat," Jim suggests.

Cupcake eyes the kids on the transporter platform, as though he's not entirely convinced of this. But after a moment or two, he gives a short nod and backs away to the other side of the room, gesturing to his lackey to do the same. They huddle up in a corner and just watch.

Jim returns her gaze to the children, who have managed to hold their tongue and adopt the characteristics of a statue. "Were you the only ones on ship?" she asks.

No answer.

"Hey—you're safe now. We wont hurt you here," Jim promises, but as she takes one step up, they shrink back with apprehension.

They still give no response.

"It's okay to be afraid. I would be too. A lot is happening." Jim gives them a small smile and holds up her hands to show she's harmless.

The boy glares at her untrustworthily, but the girls look at her curiously.

"I promise you we aren't trying to hurt you," Jim says as she steps down and gives them space.

The boy's lips twist unhappily as he curls his dirtied fingers around the edge of his tattered shirt and lifts it to expose the thick pink scar, sliced into the skin of his stomach, right beside his belly button. It looks like a stab wound. "Someone made us that promise before but I got this instead," he mutters before dropping his shirt and returning his arm to his side.

Jim feels her heart and stomach lurch unpleasantly. She's reminded of things—of the cruelty of life and people—she doesn't wish for her instincts to be true, but she knows that she's found a kindred spirit in this little boy. She has this bothersome feeling that tells her that they have some similar experiences in common.

_I'm sorry,_ Jim thinks, her blue eyes meeting his untrusting brown ones. _I know what that's like._

The boy frowns and eyes her like he's trying to figure her out and Jim just lets him, making sure that anything that he wants to know can be seen right on her face.

Cupcake's second lackey returns with three oranges. "Three. Just like you asked Captain. Not sure what you meant by thick but hopefully this will do."

"Tremendously, thanks," Jim says and takes them, holding two in one hand and just one in the other.

The lackey nods and joins Cupcake and the other lackey in the corner.

"I have alerted both doctors and they are en route," Spock says, grabbing her attention. There's a strangely thoughtful and questioning gleam in his eyes, and it's no doubt because of how open her face is in that moment.

This makes Jim falter for a moment and she's dangerously close to slamming a lid on her facial expression but she bears down on the feeling, looking away from him instead. For once she's grateful for the distance he constantly insists on. She doesn't think she could take it if he was right beside her—she doesn't need to feel anymore conflicted than she already does. She would not mind it if he just continues to stand beside Scotty, who is still gaping at the kids like he'd never seen any before.

It's just a little funny because maybe the engineer hadn't.

Jim watches the children, who eye her warily, but also cant help but to eye the fruit in her hand hungrily as well. She holds them up for them to see. "You like oranges don't you? I haven't met a kid who doesn't." She holds them out like a peace offering. "You three must be hungry."

None of them make a move to accept it.

_Tough crowd,_ Jim thinks.

Just then, Dr. Dehner and Bones appear, doing a double take just as everyone else did when they spy the children.

"_Captain_," Bones growls lowly, saddling up beside her. "You mind tellin' me where the hell those goddamn kids came from?"

Jim sighs and tosses him a look. Him and his overreaction to things—really. She whispers, "Easy there, _Dr. McCoy_—they scare easily." Then she gives him another pointed look.

Bones drops his scowl the minute he pays closer attention to how the kids are behaving. He doesn't try for a smile, but he goes out of his way not to look too unfriendly. He also pauses as he takes a good gander at her face. "Jim, why's your face so—"

"Bones have you ever met any kids who dislikes oranges?" Jim roughly interjects, a light pink dusting her cheeks. She hopes to God that he catches a fucking hint and drops it.

Bones's eyes narrow and he mutters something as he looks away and focuses his attention back on the children instead.

Jim exhales in relief, but she knows that this is a subject that's going to come up again.

Dr. Dehner saddles up to Jim's left and now Jim finds herself sandwiched between the two over-calculating doctors—a place she would rather not be. She doesn't have to contemplate this dilemma for long because Dr. Dehner takes two careful steps up to the platform and beams at the kids with a reassuring smile.

They all slam back towards the wall and begin to tremble.

Dr. Dehner's smile falters and she backtracks, realizing she's making things worse by trying to approach them. "They are—" She pauses briefly as she returns to Jim's side and studies the kids with thoughtfully grey eyes. "Well they seem to be traumatized."

Bones snorts bitterly. "There's no seeming about it—they are. Just look at 'em. It'll take a crow bar to move them from that spot," he says.

Jim silently agrees.

"I was only trying to see if I could persuade them away," Dr. Dehner explains in a low whisper.

"They aren't jumpers on the edge of a buildin'," Bones replies, his voice equally quiet. "You can't just charge them all smiles and good intentions."

Dr. Dehner's face contorts unhappily. "Then what would you suggest Dr. McCoy?"

"No need to ask me, darlin'. Psychology's more your area," Bones cleverly deflects. "Just let me get a good scan and I can point out the physical factors."

"Well we can't very well do that if we can't convince them to move, now can we?" Dr. Dehner retorts.

"By all means then, after you," Bones gripes and gestures sarcastically with his hand.

"Dr. McCoy! I don't appreciate—"

And that's when Jim decides to intervene. "Shh," she hushes. "We're getting nowhere with the two of you openly brawling. You know they can sense negativity just like the rest of us."

Dr. Dehner and Bones look equally unhappy at being chastised but they make no move to argue.

"And since neither of you can agree on how to go about all this. Why don't I just try something?" Jim suggests. Before they can respond, she walks up the four steps and stands at the very edge of the transporter platform.

The girls perk up curiously while the boy glares at Jim, warning her to keep away.

Jim flashes them all a friendly grin. "I'll keep right here," she promises and makes no move to step in any closer to them. "I just want to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?" she asks.

The twin to the left says, "Why would we answer them?"

"You haven't asked for our names or given us yours," the twin to the right finishes.

"It's only polite," the boy mutters as he crosses his arms and stares Jim down.

Jim smothers down an amused grin. She's sure that who ever held them captive—if they had been held captive—had their hands full with them. "You're right. I've been incredibly rude," she admits. "Tell you what—I would be happy to do such if you did something for me."

They all give her an expectant look.

"Actually you have to do two things," Jim elaborates. "First thing, you have to eat these." She tosses an orange to one of the twins, and then the second one to the other. They catch the oranges by mere surprise. "And the second thing is—you have to trust that we're here to help you. And that anything we do from this point on is only for your benefit."

The twins look unsure for a moment.

"That's it?"

"That's all you want?"

Jim nods and makes an imaginary 'X' over her heart with her pointer finger. "Promise," she says gently.

The twin to the right of the boy says, "I'm Leona. Daughter of Rennin and Sealsa of the High Master's court of Simperion."

"And I'm Riesa," the other says. "Daughter of Rennin and Sealsa of the High Master's court of Simperion."

Jim smiles. "Very pretty names."

Riesa nods enthusiastically while she peels her orange. "We were named after dad's favorite Wine & Wind Tale."

"The Journey of Jasel, Leona and Riesa," Leona adds, also peeling her orange. "Simperion's mightiest warriors and sworn protectors of the League of Realms."

Jim soaks every word in, growing all the more curious as to where these children have come from. "Interesting," she murmurs, but even that word is just a modest description of how she really feels. She turns her gaze to the boy. "That would make you Jasel, wouldn't it?"

Jasel glares but nods reluctantly in a confirming way. "Jasel. Son of Rennin and Sealsa of the High Master's court of Simperion."

"How old are you?"

"Thirteen. My sisters are nine."

"You can have this if you want," Jim says, tossing the orange to him.

Jasel catches it with a scowl. "I do not want your stupid fruit," he mutters.

"Well, we ran out of smart fruit—so the stupid fruit is all we have for now." Jim ducks when he hurls it back at her. She had somewhat anticipated that. She didn't mind—anger was better than fear by a long shot. "Alright, I can get you a banana if you prefer, or maybe some grapes."

Jasel crosses his arms and glowers at his sisters, muttering, "Traitors. Are you so easily purchased?" Then he turns his scowl back on Jim.

Jim shrugs mildly.

"Don't be mean, Jasel. I think she really intends to help us," Leona says around a mouth full of an orange slice.

Riesa nods as the juice from her orange drips down her chin and on her fingers.

"I would no sooner trust a wild boar," Jasel mutters. "Don't be stupid."

"That's become your favorite word," Leona notes.

"What's his favorite word?" Riesa questions, her face scrunches with adorable confusion.

Leona answers, "Stupid."

"Ah," Riesa clicks her tongue disapprovingly. "Papa would be displeased to here you use such a barbaric term."

"Father isn't here is he?" Jasel snaps, hands flinging about with rage. "So I don't think it matters."

"Of course it matters," Leona disagrees with humored patience.

Riesa adds, "Death and life is in the power of the tongue—Sir Klum told you that. It's no wonder you never win any tournaments."

"If I need the advice of children, I will ask for it," Jasel barks with a glare.

"Jasel, Jasel—king of kings. Fickle boy with fickle dreams," Leona and Riesa taunt between mouthfuls of orange slices.

Jasel growls. "I will slay the both of you and dress myself with your innards if you do not shut up!"

Leona and Riesa giggle mischievously.

Jasel sighs and mutters something under his breath.

Jim puts her hands on her hips. "That's not a nice thing to say to your sisters."

"I do not care to hear your opinion, Jester. I will speak how I see fit," Jasel retorts, quite petulantly.

"Jasel! Don't you dare!" Leona gasps.

Riesa nods with thorough severity. "Mama would throw you to the dragons if she heard you speak that way to a lady."

"I _see _no _lady_," Jasel replies stubbornly. "So why would I trust a Jester and a band of strangers?"

"Because we're the good guys." Then as an afterthought, Jim adds, "What exactly is a Jester?"

Leona and Riesa giggle again.

Jim grins at them. "I'm guessing it means that I'm some sort of ridiculous clown not to be taken seriously," she says.

"That's not so bad," Leona says, finishing her last orange slice.

Riesa nods in agreement, sucking on her dirty fingers. "Yeah. Papa used to say that it is the ridiculousness that keeps the universe from imploding."

"Will you just stop talking," Jasel hisses.

"You can't tell me what to do!" Riesa mutters back. "I'm hungry and tired—and I just want to sleep."

"Yeah," Leona agrees. "Lighten up Jasel! She might actually be able to help us get home. Isn't that what you want? Don't you want to go home?"

Jasel frowns and swallows slowly. "I—" he hesitates and for a moment, the anger and distrustfulness is replaced with helplessness and uncertainty. "There are many things I wish," he mutters.

Jim sees this a window and she takes it. In three steps, she right in Jasel's space, making him flinch back in fright. Undeterred, she whispers, "You know—you don't have to like me, it's not a general requirement, but I do ask that you take the risk of trusting me."

Jasel's frown didn't waver. "I don't like you—so why would I trust you?" he challenges.

Jim drops to her knees, turns her head and separates the hair above her ear to show him the thick pink scar slashed into her scalp in two initials. "See that," she says. "I got that when I was thirteen, by a very bad man that I trusted." She drops her hand and lets her hair fall back into place, hiding the scar from view. She can feel the curious eyes of her crew but she ignores it. "You and I are a lot alike, Jasel. I know—believe me—I understand what it feels like when you have to fight all the time. It's exhausting. Even more so when you have something precious you want to protect." She glances at his sisters deliberately before she finds his gaze again.

Jasel stares at her, his brown eyes searching her face before they lift and study the rest of them. He doesn't relax completely, but his scowl relents, as well as the suspicion in his eye. "Fine. Whatever," he mutters.

Leona and Riesa beam at their older brother.

Jim smiles kindly and gathers to her feet. "No worries, Jasel."

"Don't call me that," Jasel scowls. "I've not given you the permission to be so formal with me, Jester."

"What should I call you then?" Jim wonders with an amused grin.

Jasel crosses his arms and says, "Prince will do, I think."

Leona and Riesa roll their eyes.

Jim chuckles and presses a hand over her mouth in an attempt to smother it.

Jasel glares. "Do not mock me, Jester. I'm serious."

"Oh believe me, I know," Jim says and is even more amused when Jasel scowls. "Well, Prince—is it alright if Dr. McCoy and Dr. Dehner ask you a few questions and make sure you all are in perfect health?"

Jasel glances over at them and gives them an assessing look.

Jim wonders if he isn't royalty because he does embody the title of 'Prince' very well. She's got a few suspicions of what that might mean and why they would be so far from home.

Leona and Riesa whisper something to each other before they stand on their tiptoes to whisper something in Jasel's ear.

Jasel nods considerably before he looks to Jim. "Your doctors may look at us—and ask us questions," he decides.

"Alright," Jim concedes, and motions for Bones and Dr. Dehner to come closer. "You can follow Dr. McCoy and Dr. Dehner to—"

"No," Jasel hisses.

Jim blinks. "No?"

"No?" Bones and Dr. Dehner echo.

Jasel frowns and fidgets. "No," he repeats. "Not unless you come with us," he clarifies.

Leona and Riesa nod in agreement.

Jim feels both her eyebrows lift in surprise.

"We wont cooperate unless you swear an oath to us," Jasel demands, and though he has his brave face on, Jim can tell he's uneasy at the prospect of being turned over to more strangers.

"Okay. Okay," Jim relents. "I'll stay in sight."

"Your word, Jester," Jasel presses.

"I give you my word that I will not leave your sight," Jim promises. "And I will try to stick around for as long as you need me."

The tension in Jasel's shoulders relaxes slightly, and he looks a bit grateful. "Then you have a sworn duty to the House of Upson, Jester. Please remember," he says somewhat tiredly.

Jim nods patiently.

Bones says, "Why don't we take a walk down to Sickbay—I'm sure you can ask them whatever you need while I look them over, Dr. Dehner."

Dr. Dehner doesn't seem too happy with this suggestion but she doesn't argue. "I'll take what I can get," she replies.

Jim turns to Spock. "Mr. Spock."

"Yes, Captain?"

"If you should need me—if I'm needed…" She trails off with a sloppy gesture of her hand. "Just keep me posted about the ship or any findings."

Spock inclines his head in understanding, and there's that searching look in his dark eyes again. "Understood, Captain."

Jim doesn't even want to fathom what that look means—she's already confused as is. They'll most likely have to talk later. "Right then," she sighs. "Lead the way, Dr. McCoy."

And that's just what Bones does. He stays a few paces ahead with Dr. Dehner—they're discussing something quite animatedly if their wild hand gestures are any indication. Leona and Riesa crowd around Jim, as if they had known her all their lives, and practically skip at her sides. Jasel just slinks behind them with a guarded frown, his brown eyes sharp with distrust and suspicion as he takes in the ship and the crew aboard.

"Is your brother always like that?" Jim asks quietly.

Leona smiles understandably. "Yes, at times. He can be really sweet otherwise."

"Papa says he has a warrior's heart and that he was born battle-ready," Riesa explains, tucking her hands behind her head in a carefree pose. "He just wants everyone to know that he was made to rule."

"Which I find quite silly. Jasel is exceptional at everything he does," Leona chirps with genuine pride.

Riesa beams as she says, "He'll be the mightiest warrior in all the League of Realms someday. No doubt about that!"

"I can hear all of you, you know," Jasel drawls. "It's bad taste to gossip."

Jim, Riesa and Leona glance at each other as they share a secret smile.

They reach the end of the corridor and crowd into the turbolift. Silence shadows them all as it lowers and then stops. The door whooshes open and they all march to the end of the corridor where Sickbay can be found. Bones barks out a few orders and his med personnel scrambles, grabbing different equipment and ushering the children on different biobeds. Jim stands at a distance and watches. The kids don't seem to be surprised about anything that's happening to them, and that really leaves Jim to wonder all the more. Perhaps they aren't surprised because they have something of the same devices in their world.

Whatever and wherever that world is.

Or maybe they've been exposed to such things during their captivity. Their captives would have wanted to be sure that they were in decent health if they were to be ransomed or sold. But these were just guesses. Jim isn't entirely sure. She sighs, pressing a fist to her grinning lips as she watches with a glimmer of amusement as the children sit compliantly during all the poking and prodding of Bones. They look like a young king and queens on their thrones, used to being waited on in such a way, and again Jim just wonders all the more.

Dr. Dehner pokes and prods at them as well (in a mentally metaphorical sense) and scribbles down a chunk full of notes in her leather-bound journal. Jim isn't sure what she asks or what's being said but she can tell that Dr. Dehner isn't quite getting what she's looking for. After an hour and a half, she leaves with this sort of pinched and frustrated face.

Though she doesn't leave without a curt, "They need rest, but are otherwise stable." This comment is tossed quickly towards Jim as she exits, leaving Jim no time to ask anything more.

Jim figures she will have to sit down and pry some answers from Dr. Dehner later, when she has the time.

Bones is the opposite, though he does take thirty minutes longer to state his overall conclusions. He looks immensely satisfied by the end of it all.

"What's the good news?" Jim questions after Bones instructs Chapel to get the children some proper clothes.

Bones says, "They're healthy—despite the slight malnutrition and lack of proper sleep. All things that can be easily fixed."

"Slight malnutrition?" Jim queries with a frown.

"Trust me, that ain't the end of it either." Bones grabs her by the elbow and pulls her over to a corner so that could have a bit more privacy. "They've been well-fed up to a point. If I had to make a guess, I'd say that change might have occurred eight, maybe even ten days ago."

Jim carefully mulls that over in her head. "So they weren't the only ones on that ship," she concludes.

"Dr. Dehner came to the same sort of conclusion—only she couldn't get them to budge and say anythin' about it," Bones elaborates.

"Hence the perturbed face she left with," Jim says.

"Yeah, well—I figure they've taken quite a shinin' to you, Kid. If anyone could get them to talk in detail, it's you," Bones decides.

Jim frowns and glances over at the children, who are watching her curiously as well. "I'll try. You know I will, Bones, but…" she hesitates.

Bones huffs and clasps a hand over her shoulder. "Jim, look at me," he says.

Jim does.

"You'll do just fine. Those kids wont let you out of their sight, so I suggest you make the most of this experience," Bones advises. "I wasn't lyin' when I said you'd make one hell of a mom."

Jim gives him a dry look.

Bones grins darkly. "Not too hard, darlin'. Just keep them fed, clean and send them to bed. We can worry about the rest tomorrow. Now I gotta see to the end of my shift, I'll stop by your quarters in the morning. There's something else I found that I want to talk to you about, but I need a little more time to be sure I'm comin' to the right end of things."

Jim makes this sort of floundering expression. "Oh no, Bones. You can't pawn them off on me," she hisses.

"You do have a duty don't you?" Bones counters.

Jim did. She most certainly did. "You suck."

"And your too noble for your own good sometimes," Bones squeezes her shoulder comfortingly. "You'll do fine. They already like you. And it's just for tonight. I already said I'd be by in the mornin'. Try and keep them alive till then."

"Shut it," Jim mutters with a headshake.

Bones just chuckles and gestures to Chapel and tells her to give the clean clothes to Jim. "They're free to leave," he says.

"Yeah, yeah. Good riddance to you too," Jim says as she purposefully bumps her shoulder into his as she slides by and approaches the kids. "So the good doctor says you can leave. Which means you get to tag along with me."

Riesa and Leona hop down with excited grins.

Jasel is a bit more dignified, and even though he frowns as if he disapproves of everything in the entire universe, he does look ready to leave as well.

Jim exhales with a silent prayer and leads the way.

888

Feeding them was easy enough. Once they reached Jim's personal quarters, she replicated an entire tray of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for them, along with several mugs of warmed milk. It didn't take long for the three of them to clear that entire tray and empty all those mugs. Jim had barely made it through her own small bowl of brown rice and broccoli chicken before she had to refill everything for them again. It wasn't until their fourth helping did they cry fullness and satisfaction.

Where did they put it all?

But truly, that was a piece of cake compared to herding them all in the bathroom one by one so they could take a shower. Jasel didn't put up much of a fight when she showed him just how the sonic sprays worked. It was Riesa and Leona who gave her a hard time. They seemed to like to run at every opportunity, claiming that they were offended by the mere idea of water and soap. Jim would swear those two were a pair of humanoid cats. She even wondered out loud why two pretty little girls their age would be so appalled by getting clean?

"Our hair," they responded in perfect harmony.

Jim lifted her eyebrow in question.

"It gets so knotted and tangled," Leona clarified.

Riesa added, "And it hurts and looks ugly."

"Well what if I promise to braid your hair all nice and pretty when you finish bathing?" Jim suggests.

Riesa and Leona consider this. After a moment or two, they nod and shove Jim out the bathroom so they can commence their bathing.

Jim sighs and walks over to her bed, flopping backwards in pure exhaustion. That had taken a good hour.

Jasel was already clean and outfitted in the pair of pajamas Chapel had replicated. They were dark blue, patterned with planets and stars. He was sitting on the couch with a plate of chocolate chip cookies. "You should feel proud, Jester," he comments. "It takes Lady Vienna longer to convince them to clean themselves after a day of rolling through the grass, constructing mud cakes and crawling around thorny bushes."

"I'll mark this down as an accomplishment then," Jim mutters tiredly.

"Do as you wish," Jasel shrugs uncaringly as he shoves another cookie in his mouth. He manages to make that look dignified too.

Jim sits up with a frown. "Did I give you that? I don't remember giving you that," she points out.

Jasel shrugs again. "Your devices are not so complicated," he merely replies.

Jim admits that's true, but she never would have guessed he could have picked it up so quickly. "You really are smart aren't you?" she wonders aloud.

Jasel flushes and glares. "I care not for your praises, Jester," he mutters, but he still preens.

Jim chuckles just as Riesa and Leona come waltzing from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following up behind them. They're outfitted in their nightgowns, the same as Jasel's, dark blue and patterned with stars and planets.

"See now, that wasn't so bad," Jim says as she stands.

"No, but it wasn't enjoyable," Leona replies with a faint shrug.

"We're not going to have to do this tomorrow are we?" Riesa asks, looking quite worried at the idea.

Jim grins and then chuckles. "Depending on how clean you can keep yourself, we can negotiate," she promises.

"Okay, now braid our hair! You did promise," Leona points out as Riesa nods quickly.

Jim smiles. "I will, I will. Go sit on the floor in front of the couch. I need to change too," she says.

Jim quickly grabs some lime green pajama bottoms and a white tank top and scuttles over to the bathroom to change. She almost slips and breaks her neck because of all the water on the floor. Jim rolls her eyes and changes, grabbing the kids' old ratty clothes and disposes of them. She then attempts to dry the floor as best as she can so that Spock wont be on her case about it.

When she returns, Riesa and Leona are happily munching away on a bowl of popcorn that they're sharing between them.

"I see you guys are having fun with my replicator," Jim comments as she grabs her hairbrush, comb and ponytail holders. She plops down on the edge of the couch. "Don't have too much fun. I don't want to have to lock it," she warns.

"I'm sure I can figure out how to undo it," Jasel boasts.

"I wouldn't recommend it," Jim retorts, snagging a handful of popcorn from the girls' bowl.

"Hey!" they cry.

Jim just shoves it all in her mouth and grins innocently. She chews and swallows before she says, "Who's first?"

"I'll go!" Leona chirps and scoots over, settling herself between Jim's knees on the floor.

"Alright," Jim says and begins to comb and part her hair carefully. They hadn't lied when they said their hair got tangled and knotted after a good washing.

"What's your name?" Leona asks after a few beats of silence.

"Jim."

"That's a boy's name," Riesa points out. "At least—I think it is. Is it?"

"It can be. I'm the exception in this case," Jim says as she parts Leona's hair down the middle and separates it into two sections. "Your hair—is ridiculously long. And very pretty."

Leona grins. "Thank you."

"Well why do you have a boy's name?" Riesa questions, a curious twinkle in her brown eyes. She munches away at another handful of popcorn.

"Don't know. You don't like it?" Jim smiles playfully as she begins to braid the right side of Leona's hair.

"I like it!" Riesa declares with a smile. "And I like you. You're not like all the other bad people."

Leona agrees, wiggling at Jim's feet. "Hey! I like you too! And I don't think your bad either."

"Well that's good I suppose. I'm not trying to be a bad person," Jim says truthfully. "Try and be still for me, Leona."

"Sorry." Leona stops moving completely.

"It's okay. You can move a little but not too much. We want this to look good," Jim says as she braids the right side all the way down to Leona's waist before tying it off with the yellow ponytail holder. "Have you met a lot of bad people?" she asks carefully as she gets to work with braiding the left side.

Riesa nods with enthusiastic seriousness. "Sure. Lots of them. Well—ever since we were taken from our home. They all smiled and talked nice but they had this ugliness in their heart."

"They weren't as nice as they pretended," Leona explains, grabbing some more popcorn. "Sometimes I wish we would have known that before. Maybe we would still be home with Papa and Mama."

"The Moon festival will have started by now," Riesa sighs, looking as homesick as she sounds. "What I wouldn't give for a Rose Cake."

"Oh yeah. Those are the absolute best," Leona agrees with a heartfelt sigh.

Jim is too curious now. "Where is Simperion? I'm guessing it's not on Earth."

"Earth?" Leona and Riesa share a confused look.

"It's a planet. My planet," Jim explains.

"Oh," Riesa says.

"We're not old enough to learn about planets yet," Leona says with a shrug. "Jasel is though! You should ask him. Papa lets him come in his study and look at all the diagrams and maps and charts and atlases and books and—"

"Leona! Riesa!" Jasel hisses. "Will you be quiet! It's no wonder our land was attacked if you two are so easily persuaded into giving secrets."

Leona and Riesa frown.

Jim finishes the braid and ties it off at the end. "There. All done."

"Wow. It looks really good Leona! You should see," Riesa gasps.

Leona touches her braids. "Yeah? I'm gonna go look!" and she disappears.

"My turn!" Riesa beams and plops down at Jim's feet.

Jim smiles and sets to work de-tangling her hair. This difficult task only takes about ten minutes. Assuming Riesa wants the same style as her twin sister, she parts her hair down the middle in two sections and begins braiding the right side.

"Who taught you how to braid?" Jasel questions as he eyes her hands with deep scrutiny.

"No one really," Jim answers honestly. "I taught myself by practicing what I learned from pictures."

Jasel doesn't say anything to that. He just leans back against the arm of the couch and continues to watch her hands through lowered lids.

"Prince," Jim starts very carefully. "Where are you from?"

Jasel frowns tiredly and blinks a bit slowly. "Simperion," he says simply.

"Is that what your planet's called?"

Jasel huffs. "Simperion isn't a planet, Jester. It's one of the realms," he shakes his head.

"So you live inside this realm of Simperion, on a planet I'm assuming," Jim guesses.

"Yes," Jasel sighs and his lids lower a bit more. "My father once explained it to me like this—realms are like galaxies. They hold a complete system of energy points and viable spheres. Everything within a realm holds the very name of the realm. Simperion is our realm, but where we're from, we live on a fathering sphere. It is called the High Master." He pauses with a yawn.

"Sphere's and energy points—you mean like stars and planets?" Jim says as she finishes.

Jasel sags against the back of the couch with a small nod. "That's an outer-worlder term, but yes. It's something of the same," he says, closing his eyes completely.

"Is your Simperion easy to reach?"

Jasel huffs again, like she's asking the most obnoxious person he's ever met. "You ask too many questions. This concerns me."

"I'm a curious person. I'm always ready to learn something new," Jim counters easily.

"For what benefit though?" Jasel questions with suspicion.

"Knowledge."

Jasel scoffs. "You're peculiar, Jester. Very peculiar. But I will answer your question," he concedes. "If you can locate the bridge that acts as the gateway between all points, then Simperion can be reached as easily," he yawns and makes a messy arc in the shape of a rainbow with his pointer fingers.

Jim quickly secures the end of Riesa's braids with orange colored ponytail holders. "What gateway?"

Jasel's eyes are completely closed this time.

Jim hops up. "Oh no, no, no. Don't fall asleep on me now." She scurries over to her work desk and quickly grabs a pen and a piece of paper.

Riesa happily munches away at her popcorn, watching Jim in silent amusement. "All done?"

"Huh—oh, yes Riesa, all done," Jim replies distractedly. She sprints back over to Jasel. "Bare with me, Prince," she says, laying the pen and paper on his lap. "Show me what you mean."

"I require sleep, Jester. Must you be a hindrance?" Jasel slurs, slumping against the couch with his eyes closed.

"Yes, I must. Just for a few minutes longer. Draw me a rough sketch of what you mean and then you can sleep as long as you want," Jim promises.

Jasel mumbles wordlessly for a few minutes before he sighs loudly. He shakes his head and widens his eyes, grabbing the pen and drawing what he can. "Your moon—is also ours." He draws the moon and darkens one side. "It acts a leading compass—the guidance." He draws pointed tips over the moon and labels it. "It rotates in distinct ways. Every way the dark faces is the direction these bridges lay, tangents and all." He yawns and draws lines, a few more planets and some equations. "Singularities don't rest on just a line—there are ups and downs, slants and curves. The everywhere and the everything lies between and around—this, Jester, determines all paths." He then shoves it into Jim's chest and slumps into the couch again. "That is all I will do for you. You will get no more from me."

Jim studies the drawing with a thoughtful frown. "This looks like some kind of science I've never seen," she mutters.

"Science and magic, Jester. They're one in the same—the difference is in the calculations," Jasel babbles. "Science explains magic," he yawns again. "And magic provides the means for science to work…" and then he's snoring softly, absolutely lost to the world.

Jim still has many questions, but she's not so horrible that she would deprive the boy of his sleep just to get them. Then she frowns with a thought, "Riesa?"

"Yes, Lady Jim?" Riesa says, lowering the popcorn bowl she had been licking.

Jim smiles fondly. "How long does it take for your sister to look in the mirror?" she asks.

Riesa frowns thoughtfully. "Good question. We could go look?" she suggests.

"I think we might have to," Jim says. The two of them walk to the bathroom and find it empty, but the door to Spock's quarters is wide open. "That doesn't seem good," she winces and jogs over and into her First Officer's room.

Leona is sitting on the front edge of Spock's work desk—with Uhura, who is leaning against it with an amused smirk on her face.

"Nyota! What a surprise," Jim says.

Uhura glances over at her and her smirk shrivels into a frown. "Kirk. Which one of us should be surprised?" she counters.

Jim grins. "I see you've met Miss Leona," she introduces before tossing Leona a look. "I don't remember there being a mirror in here."

Leona smiles sheepishly. "I heard music and got curious. Lady Nyota is quite the gifted psalmist!"

"Well I wouldn't say that," Uhura says, humbly enough.

Jim crosses her arm and lifts her eyebrows with interest. "You know I would really like to experience that firsthand."

"Would you?" Uhura retorts with a mock smile. "Tough luck. I only perform for close friends and family."

"Now that hurts. I would have at least thought you would consider me as like a third cousin or—a creepy uncle," Jim says.

Uhura's expression goes flat. "Not even close."

"What are you doing here anyway?" Jim asks, watching Leona hop off the desk and take Riesa in hand as they huddle over to Spock's slumping yellow and blue potted plant.

Uhura scoffs. "What am _I _doing here?"

"Yes, what are _you_ doing here? I didn't think the question was too hard," Jim says, looking away from the twins to meet Uhura's perturbed gaze.

"Not that it's any of your business—and it really isn't—but Spock and I had dinner plans," Uhura says, running a graceful hand down her the tip of her ponytail.

Jim figures that she does it as some kind of nervous tick. "Dinner plans, huh? That's sweet. Listen," she says. "Have you talked to Spock?"

"Would it matter if I had?" Uhura retorts.

"You know it's rude to answer a question with a question," Jim points out, politely enough.

"I'm just trying to figure out your angle, Kirk," Uhura replies with a mild shrug. "And what's the situation with the unregistered ship?"

"So you _have _talked to him," Jim snorts. "And as far as I know—I know nothing really. Except for the simple yet not so simple fact that there were kids on that ship," she says, gesturing to the twins.

"And the kids haven't mentioned anything?" Uhura presses with genuine curiosity.

"Just how much has Spock mention to you?" Jim asks with narrowed eyes.

Uhura smiles sharply. "Enough."

"Well—no. Not for lack of trying. I can get them to mention some things but when it comes to that," Jim pauses with noncommittal hand gesture.

Uhura hums thoughtfully and turns to look at the girls.

Jim does the same.

Leona and Riesa are whispering excitedly to one another over the plant. They poke and prod at the leaves, assessing every response and reaction. Finally, after a minute or two, they join hands and outstretch their other hands to the plant, chanting lowly under their breath. The chanting brings about a blue translucent glow to the palms of their hands. Their whole palm glows and then dampens down, sliding forth into the tips of their fingers until the light shoots out like some kind of pale and translucent spider web of light and electricity.

"Kirk."

"Yeah."

"You're seeing this right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Good. I'm not going crazy."

"Yeah."

The webs of light attach to different parts of the plant and pulsate. Leona and Riesa giggle and begin to chant faster, almost as if they were singing. The web pulsates into the plant growing brighter and brighter and brighter until Uhura and Jim have to turn away from the explosion of blinding light.

Jim squints, still seeing flickers of static and sparks. She shivers, feeling the sudden charged energy of the room. She can feel all her small hairs standing on end all across her body. Even the tip of her ponytail feels like its split into every individual strand and pointing outward like the seed head of a dandelion.

That is of little concern because the plant—the plant has blossomed.

_Gold_ flowers—flowers that Jim has never even seen before, and as a kid she used to like to look up pictures and videos and all sort of digital media concerning the little oxygen makers just for the hell of it. It's not too hard to guess that this plant hadn't originated on Earth.

"Uhura?"

"Yup?"

"You bought this plant didn't you?"

"Yup."

"Is it supposed to do that?"

"I have no fucking idea."

Jim glances over at her gaping Communications Officer, and thinks, yeah, she must really be surprised because there is no way she would have cursed just off the bat like that—let alone in front of a pair of kids.

"Do you not like Lady Nyota?" Leona asks with a guarded frown.

Riesa mirrors the expression as she says, "After careful consideration, we were able to determine that '_attention_' is what the organism lacked."

"We just gave it a little affection," Leona adds. "We stimulated some of its more natural responses and biological reactions to communal interactions."

"As well as a little water and sunlight," Riesa says. "We modified and focused on the parts of the organism that needed specific attention with certain mineral compounds and energy quantified from solar radiation."

Uhura stares, unable to comprehend that such huge and elaborate explanation could come from such a small individuals.

Jim, on the other hand, is absolutely fascinated. "I knew your brother couldn't be the only genius!" she crows with a wide smile.

Leona and Riesa flush but still beam with pride.

"I have so many things I want to ask you," Jim murmurs. She holds up Jasel's sketch. "Do you think you could help me with this. I have a slight idea of what your brother might have meant but I could always use more clarity."

"Sorry Lady Jim," Leona says.

"We really don't know much about spheres and energy points," Riesa adds.

Leona clarifies, "We aren't of age yet. We're still learning about the smaller forms of life."

"Like organisms, and how we can use what we learn to focus our magic to suit their needs," Riesa elaborates.

"Science and magic," Jim murmurs. "Your brother mentioned that too. You think you can tell me about that then, since you don't much about this?" she asks while she points to Jasel's sketch.

Leona and Riesa nod enthusiastically, but its ruined when they yawn.

"Right. Sleep first. We'll have plenty of time for a Q&A in the morning," Jim decides and walks over to them. They whine and protest as she ushers them towards the bathroom. "Go climb in my bed, I'll be there in a second."

Leona and Riesa do as told, but not without a bit of mumbling and grumbling.

Jim snorts and shakes her head fondly. She turns back to Uhura who is eyeing her strangely. "What?" she asks, feeling a bit self-conscious. "My hair's sticking up isn't it?" She pats it down.

"No, it's not that—I mean it is sticking up, and I'm sure mine is too—but it's not that," Uhura admits. "You just look—I don't know," she says faintly as she eyes Jim. "I don't think I ever pictured you with kids."

Jim laughs a little. "Easy there, Nyota—they're not my kids," she points out.

Uhura rolls her eyes. "Cry me a river, Kirk. I know that. I didn't say they were yours, I said I never imagined you _with _them. It's—different. You seem—different."

"Different good, or different bad?"

Uhura places her hands on her hips and gives a graceful shrug. "Only time will tell," she merely replies.

"Hm," Jim huffs thoughtfully. "I suppose." She sighs and offers Jasel's rough sketch to her. "Do me a minuscule favor? While you and Spock are commencing your dinner plans—can you give this to him and ask him to look it over for me? See what he can make of it."

Uhura lifts a finely arched eyebrow as she accepts it. "And you didn't think to ask me for my input?"

"Well if you have something, by all means then," Jim says easily.

Uhura stares at her for a few moments before lowering her gaze to the paper. After a minute or so she says, "I'll give it to him, _after _our dinner plans."

"It's all the same to me," Jim shrugs with an amused grin. "I'll leave you to it then." She salutes and then spins on her heel to return to her quarters.

As she reaches the doorway, Uhura says, "Hey Kirk."

Pausing mid-step, Jim replies, "Yeah?"

"You ever think that the reason why you haven't gotten any answers from them is because you're asking the wrong questions?" Uhura states.

Jim frowns thoughtfully.

"I'm only saying, that instead of trying to pry answers from them, you could get to know them," Uhura continues. "And in return they could get to know you."

"Just because they like me, doesn't mean they trust me," Jim summarizes. "And you think I should give them a reason to."

"If you want my advice about it, I'm giving it. Put yourself in their shoes."

Jim snorts humorously. "I have been," she mutters.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Jim lies. "Thanks. I'll definitely try your suggestion on for size. Have a good night." And then she walks off before Uhura can say anything else to her.

Leona and Riesa are waiting under the covers for her when she returns.

"You two should be in bed," Jim points out as she grabs a blanket and a pillow, taking it over to Jasel, who, by this time, has spread out across her couch.

"We are in bed."

"See. Right here in bed."

Jim carefully lifts Jasel's head and shoves the pillow under. She then shakes out and spreads the blanket over him. "You're in bed but you're not sleeping," she says as she walks back over.

Leona and Riesa perk up as Jim crawls into bed and plops right down in between them.

"You never said to sleep, Lady Jim," Riesa points out.

Leona nods in agreement. "Aren't you cold? You should climb under," she advises, poking at Jim's cheek gently.

Jim smiles, eyes still closed, but shuffles under the covers anyway.

Leona and Riesa don't waste a second cuddling in close to her.

Jim doesn't mind being apart of this warm sandwich, its actually quite nice—comforting in a way. "Computer. Lights at two percent."

The lighting dims substantially but not too much.

Jim feels herself drifting with the feeling of two heartbeats pressing into her sides, as well as puffs of air against her shoulders.

"Lady Jim?" Leona—or maybe it Riesa—whispers.

"Hm?"

"Can you tell us a story?"

"I don't know any."

"Make up one."

Jim chuckles. "Demanding aren't you?"

Leona and Riesa giggle and huddle in closer, practically draping themselves over Jim's back.

"I might know one, possibly," Jim murmurs tiredly. She yawns and sighs, then says, "Once upon a time, there were two boys—twins. The older boy was named Esau and the younger was named Jacob. Ever since they were in their mother's stomach, they always fought and battled. Even on the day they were born, Esau came out first but Jacob clung to his heel, refusing to be left behind."

Leona and Riesa giggles.

Jim smiles tiredly. "When they were older, Esau had been out hunting for a very long time and he grew weak and tired. Jacob had some food that he had already prepared, and it smelled very good, so Esau bargained his birthright for a bit of food."

"That's absurd!" Riesa—that is definitely Riesa—cries.

"He couldn't have been that hungry," Leona exclaims.

"Ah—so you two know what birthrights are," Jim asks carefully. She can't see it but she can feel them nod against her back.

"It's your inheritance," Leona says.

Riesa adds, "It's what you come into life with and it helps you follow the natural order of things."

"Yes, like for Jasel. The throne is his birthright," Leona points out.

"And yours?" Jim asks.

Leona and Riesa squirm as they belt out, "Marriage—_eeeew._"

Jim laughs a little. "You seem disappointed."

"We are. I don't ever want to marry. I want to be a Dragon Tamer," Riesa sighs with a bit of forlornness.

"And I want to Healer," Leona says.

"Those sound like very nice things to be," Jim comments.

"What about you, Lady Jim?" Leona asks.

"I'm doing what I always wanted. Captaining my very own ship—sailing the stars—discovering the unknown," Jim confesses.

"Does it make you happy?" Riesa questions.

Jim shrugs. "It does."

"Do you have prince?" Riesa asks.

"Prince?"

"Yes. Mama and Papa says that every princess has a prince," Leona explains.

"Oh," Jim says and chuckles a little. "I do not."

"Well that's no good!"

"We must find you one!"

"You're of age now!"

"You should be producing children and officiating heirs to carry on your lineage."

Jim laughs. "What?"

"I don't think that's a joke, Lady Jim. Though—I really don't understand what it means. Sir Klum says it often enough when he gives Jasel a serious talking to because he isn't behaving in a way his duty demands," Leona explains.

"I appreciate the thought girls—but truly, I have no need for a prince at this time," Jim assures.

Leona and Riesa just squirm all the more over her and whisper things to each other.

Jim is afraid they might be plotting something. "So—you're from a kingdom?"

They still above her, and there is this sort of hesitation about them.

Jim can't pinpoint why.

"In a way," Leona replies vaguely.

"Your mother and father—are they the king and queen of High Masters?"

Dead silence.

_Okay…that obviously wasn't the right thing to ask, _Jim thinks.

"Do finish the story, Lady Jim. We'll answer your questions tomorrow," Riesa demands, pushing at Jim slightly.

Jim grins secretly. They were just too smart. "Okay, okay. So—as I said, Esau sold his birthright to Jacob—he would come to regret this…"

888

Jim doesn't remember falling asleep. She figures she must have drifted off during her storytelling. It's hard for her to drift back off because there is something probing at the back of her mind. She also feels uncomfortably sandwiched. Riesa's elbow is digging into her ribs and Leona has rolled onto the ponytail of her hair and on top of her hand (which has gone numb by now).

Jim carefully wiggles out the bed and sits on the end of it, shaking her right hand out to get the blood flowing. She sighs and notices her PADD is blinking with a notification. She stands and carefully tiptoes to her work desk to see a message from Spock, requesting an audience with her as soon as possible. The current time on her PADD says its midnight, and the message was sent forty minutes ago.

Jim runs her tongue along the edge of her bottom teeth in thought. After a few moments of contemplation, she figures she might as well. She's wide-awake now, and Spock might have something important to say.

She nods to herself and grabs her brush from off the coffee table, making a slight attempt to look just a bit presentable.

Jim clears her throat and decides to braid her hair into a French braid—no big deal. She lets her bangs hang loose and fall into her face. She quietly puts the brush back down. She turns and heads to the bathroom but then pauses.

As a last minute decision, she swipes her toothbrush and toothpaste. "It's only polite," she mutters as she turns the sink on, but not all the way; she doesn't want to wake the kids. She wets the brush and puts toothpaste on and starts scrubbing away at her teeth. "No big deal," she mutters to herself as her mouth starts to foam. "I would've done this for anyone," she rationalizes and scrubs at her tongue. She spits, rinses with water and spits again.

Jim exhales as she eyes her reflection. The lights aren't on but she can still make out her outline. "Not like I care what he thinks anyway," she mutters and scoffs quietly. She drums her finger against the counter before she grabs the bar soap and rubs it between her hands until it becomes sudsy. She then scrubs her face and rinses it off with cold water. She grabs the hand towel nearby and dabs her face dry.

Jim drops the towel and exhales, eyeing her darkened reflection until she shakes her head pitifully. "You care what he thinks, you fucking sap," she accuses and rolls her eyes at herself with a long-suffering sigh. "That's just great. When did that happen?" she grumbles as she walks over to his door. She points her finger, hesitates while making a face, then presses her finger forward on the comm unit. "Spock?"

"_Captain?"_

"I—uh—got your message and—we could talk now if you aren't, you know, busy—or sleeping," Jim babbles and mentally kicks herself for it.

"_Now is acceptable. You may enter._"

The door slides open, and Jim gets a sense of déjà vu. His bed is still neatly made, and it still smells like cinnamon and incense, though the lighting this time is substantially better. She can actually see things as she wanders around the corner and to his work desk where he is already seated. That darn plant is still blossomed and she wonders if he's even noticed.

Jim plops down in the chair on the other side of his desk, opposite from him, and says, "Do you ever sleep?"

Spock lifts his gaze from Jasel's rough sketch to meet her own. "I assure you, Captain, I get a sufficient amount of rest. Vulcans require a lesser refractory period than that of humans."

Jim crosses her legs and arms. "I'm sorry, that was—supposed to have stayed in my head as a thought. I wasn't trying to pry," she admits honestly. "My curiosity gets the best of me sometimes."

"Indeed," Spock replies evenly.

Jim rubs her chin thoughtfully. "So you wanted to talk."

"Yes—concerning this diagram," Spock clarifies, sliding Jasel's rough sketch directly in the center of his work desk.

Jim slides forward to the edge of her seat and braced her hands on the edge of his desk as she eyed the sketch. "Yeah, I gave it to Uhura so she could give it to you. I figured you could see something I couldn't."

(**picture is available to be seen in livejournal**)

"The diagram is rather—fascinating," Spock admits as his dark eyes assess the picture. "Who is responsible?"

Jim grins. "This would be the young prince's doing—Jasel to be exact. I managed to nag him into drawing it for me right as he fell off into sleep," she confesses, finger-combing her bangs out of her eyes. "You know the way he just described the drawing—it was just so—elaborate. Like he had every detailed figured out and the truth of it all was just so—simple. I mean you should have heard the way he tried to explain it to me—like he was the twenty year old and I was thirteen."

"You are twenty?" Spock questions.

Jim leans back, suddenly uncomfortable. "Yeah—I thought everyone knew."

"I believe there is a shared notion among all levels of personnel that you are young but not quite so young," Spock states plainly. Then he has this gleam in his dark eyes like her age explains everything about her behavior.

"Quite so young," Jim repeats flatly, and then scoffs. "Just what is quite so young? Twenty? Come on—Chekov is seventeen!"

"He is not the Captain," Spock counters, quite unhelpfully.

Jim gives Spock a flat look. "So? So what? Does this really matter? I mean—how old are you?"

"Twenty-three."

"Twenty-three! You're three years older than me and you're trying to give _me _a hard time."

"I assure you, Captain, I am in no way attempting to give you a '_hard time_'," Spock assures in his usual monotone voice.

"I'm starting to think that you feel like I can't—you know what, it doesn't even matter. Age isn't what we're even trying to discuss at this very moment—this picture—this picture right here, is what we're focusing on. So—you know—let's focus," Jim says.

"Of course," Spock agrees, and she swears to high heaven he is patronizing her under that stoic mask of his.

Jim narrows her eyes at him. "Anyway," she draws deliberately. She sits up and jabs her finger at the picture of the moon. "What do you think?"

"The moon is portrayed as a compass, and by it's size, I assume there is some underlying importance," Spock says. "The spatial arrangement of each depiction is also note-worthy. They are not drawn on the same scale."

"I thought so too," Jim admits. "Jasel said that our moon, was also their moon as well. Which I think is a pretty strong indication that, from their view of things, Simperion can't be too far. Which is also another problem for me because he said that Simperion was a realm—or to be more scientific—an actual galaxy. In my understanding of things, galaxies just don't coincide that closely."

"Your assumption is correct, however, if you will notice the differing sizes in each planet," Spock gestures to the sketch.

Jim squints her eyes. "The moon—it's drawn bigger than all the others," she notes. "It's the angle, then. He's drawn it from a bird's eye view." She frowns thoughtfully. "But why? Why draw it from that kind of angle?"

Spock opens the top drawer to his desk and his pale hand remerges with a pen. "I believe this may clarify things," he says as he draws a perfect line down the middle of the paper.

Jim feels her eyebrows lift in speculation because, yeah, that cleared things right up. "A mirror-verse?" She looks up and meets his gaze. "You think Simperion is just a mirror image of our little ole Milky Way."

Spock inclines his head.

Jim huffs unbelievingly. "As hard as it is to say, it makes sense. And there must be multiple versions if that's true—some that are up to speed, some that are way past our speed and some that are behind. Jasel did say that there were other realms." Then it hits her and she perks up. "And he also said that moon acts as guiding factor." She leans forward and jabs her finger into the splintered lines. "Bridges—gateways. That's what he called them. And depending on the position of the dark side of the moon, the portal it's able to produce points to specific galaxies or mirror-verses."

"If this is true than it is imperative Starfleet be made aware," Spock concludes.

Jim hesitates, making a face. "Let's not be too hasty. We don't have all the facts—there's still a lot more that I could learn from them about all this," she points out. "And we also have yet to understand why they are on our side of the fence anyway. My gut is sincerely telling me there's something more here we aren't seeing. And what about that ship? What's going on with that?"

"Mr. Scott is overseeing the proceedings. He has expressed vivid dissatisfaction to the results of each initial scan," Spock explains.

Jim snorts. "Meaning he's as suspicious as I am about the whole thing," she deducts.

"Indeed."

"Well, I don't blame him. It is rather—peculiar." Jim sighs and rubs her chin thoughtfully. "What if Mitchell led us to them for a reason?"

"Then it would be quite troubling since we have yet to understand his motives," Spock admits.

Jim nods. "Yeah. Troubling indeed." She yawns and covers her mouth. "Well I'm tired—and I don't think I feel up to trying to figure this all out in one go." She stands and Spock does as well. She pauses, and then says, "Can I ask you something?"

"You may."

"Why did you look so—I don't know—offended, when I told Dr. Dehner we weren't friends. I mean we aren't, so…" Jim trails off with a shrug.

"I experienced no offense," Spock replies. "You stated a truth."

"A truth," Jim repeats flatly. "So it didn't bother you—in the least?"

"I can not ascertain the purpose of your query."

"You don't have to ascertain a thing—it's a simple question!"

"One I have already supplied the answer to."

Jim laughs bitterly. "You know what? You're right. I guess what I really want to know is if you would like to be friends."

Spock's expression changes, like nothing she's ever seen before, and for once she knows what's happening behind that indifferent mask. She knows because for some reason, a lightening quick slash of sensation bombards her.

**_Frustration. Puzzlement. Resentment. Apprehension._**

Then it's gone, leaving Jim to blink and stare at him. He continues to look unaffected but he glances away, straightening his posture as tucks his hands away behind his back. It's the only evident sign that what she just felt was directly from him, and directed right at her. Consciously or unconsciously, Jim isn't sure, but all she really wants to do in the next moment is ask him why? Just what does he have against her that the mere idea of being friends with her would make him feel _that _way towards her.

It hurts—Jim can't deny it no matter how much she wants to. It hurts for reasons she doesn't—can't even begin to understand. "Right," she mutters and shakes her head. "Right, well—good night, Spock. Forget I even asked." She leaves without another word, feeling equal parts stupid and humiliated. She slides back into bed between the twins, who snuggle in close as soon as she does, and as she's lying there she wondering one thing.

Why does she even bother to care when he clearly doesn't?

888

Jim feels wet when she wakes up the next morning.

Jim has never woken up feeling wet before.

To say she is not happy would be an understatement.

"Sorry," Riesa says with this pitiful expression that Jim cannot help but fall for. "I didn't mean to, honest," she says as Leona rubs her back comfortingly.

Jim sighs as she tugs off her sheets and covers and tosses the soiled fabric to the ground. "It's okay, Riesa. I'm not mad," and really, she isn't. "Does this happen often?"

Riesa presses her fingers to her sagging mouth and shakes her head. Her brown eyes are filling with tears.

"Hey—Riesa, don't cry," Jim quickly scuttles over and falls to her knees in front of her, grasping her by the shoulders. "It's okay. I know you didn't mean to."

"I—I had a—a bad dream," Riesa hiccups, scrubbing at her wetly flushed cheeks.

Jim nods and rubs her hands up and down Riesa's arms comfortingly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Riesa shakes her head quickly.

"Okay, that's fine. We won't if you don't want to," Jim promises and stands to her feet.

"I'm so sorry, Lady Jim!" Riesa cries and flings herself at Jim's waist, coiling her short arms around Jim's hips and hiding her devastated face in Jim's bosoms.

"Oh Riesa," Leona sighs, crossing her arms and shaking her head sympathetically.

Jim pats Riesa's back gently. "You're forgiven, Riesa. Truly."

Riesa goes on sobbing.

Jasel lets out a very loud frustrated grunt as he springs into a sitting position. His hair is sticking up in every direction. "Riesa, honestly! The Jester has forgiven your embarrassing indiscretion. Now cease your unnecessary whining so that I may continue to rest in peace _and _quiet."

Riesa sniffs, and then giggles. "Jasel, your hair is funny," she points out as she begins to snicker.

Leona chuckles too. "I think your hair's trying to escape," she adds.

Jasel's glare is lethal by this point.

"I think it suits, Prince," Jim teases with a wink. "Very untamed."

Jasel goes absolutely red, and chokes on several responses. Finally he just flops back on the couch from view, slamming the pillow over his face as he mutters viciously into it.

Leona and Riesa giggle.

"Come on girls, let's get you cleaned and dressed for the day," Jim says, waltzing into the bathroom and turning on the sonic sprays. When she gets the right temperature, she turns to the sink and opens a drawer, gesturing the girls closer. She yanks out two scarves from the drawer and ties the orange one on Riesa, tucking her braids under and out of sight. She does the same with the yellow one for Leona. "There. You have no excuse to bath this time. This will keep those braids nice and pretty as you wash up and you wont have to worry about your hair getting knotted and tangled."

Leona and Riesa pouts but they nod their consent.

"When you're done, I'll have some breakfast waiting for you," Jim adds, shaking her eyebrows with a grin.

Like the night before, they shove her out the bathroom so they can quickly wash themselves.

Jim chuckles and shakes her head fondly for what must be the hundredth time. She practically trips over her soiled covers, forgetting that they were even there. Just to be childish, she kicks at them and puts her hands on her hips.

Jasel snorts from somewhere in her living area.

"Mind your own business, Prince," Jim says with mock seriousness. She gathers up the soiled covers and carefully disposes of them. With the help of the replicator in her closet, she gets some fresh replacements. By the time she finishes outfitting her bed with them, the girls were stumbling out the bathroom.

"We need clothes," they said, hugging their dry towels to their bodies.

Jim tries to be creative, but all she can think of giving them is a pair of overalls.

Leona and Riesa are pleased enough with their yellow, white polka-dotted overalls, with a white t-shirt underneath and white sneakers.

Jasel, however, refuses.

So Jim just gets him a pair of dark skinny jeans and a white t-shirt with some black high-tops. Secretly, she's just fulfilling this visual of a young Elvis she has in her head. She doesn't think anyone else will notice—Bones might be suspicious—but if she can ignore the urge to complete the look with a leather jacket and leave the outfit as is, no one would be the wiser.

After she replicates a big dish of apple-cinnamon oatmeal, biscuits, and some mugs of orange juice, she hides away in the bathroom so she can wash up. She slips into her captain's uniform when she's done and joins the kids on the living room floor for breakfast.

Jim's halfway into her second bowl of oatmeal when Bones comes buzzing. She shoves a buttered biscuit in her mouth and gets up to let him in. "Ph'mes!" she greets.

Bones makes a face. "You're a twelve year old," he grumbles.

Jim shrugs and swallows. "Actually I turned thirteen today, Bones," she clarifies.

Bones rolls his eyes as he approaches the kids, assessing them carefully. "How you all feelin' this mornin'?" he asks.

"Fine!" Leona and Riesa chimes around a spoonful of oatmeal.

"Copious," Jasel mutters as he spreads more apple jelly on his biscuit.

Bones gives Jim a look.

"He's the serious one," Jim shrugs in a 'what can you do?' sort of way.

"Least they're alive, looks like you managed," Bones says, landing them with another sweeping gaze. "No incidents?"

"I peed on the bed," Riesa says truthfully.

"That right?" Bones says with a lifted eyebrow.

Riesa giggles. "Your face looks funny."

Bones actually smiles back. He turns to Jim with a more serious expression. "Anything unusual?"

"There was a bit of a shock last night," Jim admits, tugging Bones by the arm and pulling him over towards her bed. "They took Spock's dying plant and made it blossom."

"Wait—why were you—no, why were _they_ in Spock's—"

"Never mind that, Bones. Explain to me what you know so I can be brought up to speed," Jim interjects. "Everything is happening really fast and I'm just trying to comprehend one thing at a time."

"Understood, but I'm not sure if this will help clarify much, I'm still wrappin' my own goddamn head around it," Bones admits. "It's the damnedest thing too. It's almost like they have—"

"_Scott to Captain Kirk!_"

Jim sighs. "Hold that thought, Bones." She walks over to her couch and shoves her hand between the cushions until she fishes out her communicator. She flips it open. "Kirk here."

"_It's gone, Captain! The ship's sunken into itself!_"

Jim blinks. "I'm sorry—what?"

"_You'll have to come to the bridge and see it yourself, Captain._"

"Alright—I'm on my way. Kirk out." Jim snaps her communicator shut. "We'll have to pick this up later, but in the mean time—can you do me a solid?" She gives Bones a smile that's all teeth.

Bones snorts. "I know that face. You're lucky I'm not needed today," he says knowingly.

Jim turns in the kids. "How would you like to tour the Enterprise? Bones here can walk you around and—"

"No," Jasel is on his feet.

Jim had a feeling this would happen. "Prince—my hands are tied. I wouldn't go unless I'm really needed. Besides, Bones is fantastic company, you can quote me on this."

"You swore an oath," Jasel retorts stubbornly.

"I did," Jim concedes patiently. "But I also have another duty that I have to—"

Jasel interjects, "Then I shall go with you."

"Prince…"

"I will accompany you," Jasel says it like its final, and maybe it is. "My sisters may go with your doctor but I will accompany you." He straightens his posture. "I can give you the explanations you need concerning that ship."

Jim has to admit that the kid is quite the negotiator. Talk about a rock and a hard place. "Alright. I don't like this, but alright. You just remember you said that you'd cooperate." She turns to Bones who looks just a bit amused. "If you don't mind, Bones. Can you keep Leona and Riesa entertained?"

"I'm sure I can manage it, Kid," Bones retorts.

Jim nods and gestures for Jasel to follow. They step out into the corridor and she leads the way. "First things, first, Prince—were you the only ones on that ship?"

Jasel looks uncomfortable. "No. We were not."

"And?" Jim presses.

As they step onto the turbolift, Jasel says, "There was a man. An awful, terrible man."

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong>

_Jim says, "Please, please, **please **__comment. Wouldn't you like to continue to see me in action? The problem with the lack of updates is that our dear author has been feeling uninspired. Take it from me, she needs to know whether or not she sucks. She's grossly needy like that."_


	7. Chapter 8

**Chapter 6**

Jim has things she wants to ask.

Like, "_Who is this awful, terrible man?"_ and "_What does he look like?_" and "_Where is he?_"

But she can't ask any of those questions because the lift has stopped and the door has whooshed open to the bridge, where all of her senior crew is scuttling about feverishly.

New questions form and blankets Jim's mind in a distracting fashion. The other musings over the mystery man is put on the back burner for later.

Captain mode settles upon her head like a well-adjourned crown, and now she's become sensitive to every detail on her bridge.

Jim senses confusion and anxiety right away. And by the way Jasel shifts and frowns guardedly beside her, she can tell he senses it too.

Something is wrong.

Scotty is the first to spot her. His hand goes flying into the air, waving frantically as if he were currently swallowed in a sea of people and he was making sure she could spot him. "Captain, over here!" he cries.

The rest of her crew snap to attention and acknowledge her presence severely.

Jim takes the brunt of their focus all in stride and glides over to the main view screen, where a vid is being fed and replayed frequently. Jasel is right on her heels. She settles into the group that contains Chekov, Scotty, Uhura, Spock, and Mitchell (unfortunately).

They eye her for a moment before their gazes drop to Jasel and morph into something that's equal parts questioning and curiosity.

Jim places a hand on the crown of Jasel's head, ignoring his glower to say, "The Prince here has elected to provide his services concerning the current matter. Let's make him feel welcome shall we? How about introducing yourselves?"

Chekov's the first to thrust his hand forward as if it were some contest on hospitality. "Chekov!" and then he's beaming adorably.

Jim wants to adopt him. Never mind the two-year age difference. She is gonna take care of that kid.

Jasel nods cordially but makes no move to accept the offered hand. "Pleasure, really," he responds dryly.

Jim grins and shakes her head as she peers down at him. Honestly, sometimes he acted older than he really was.

"I'm known to go by Scott. Scotty if you'd prefer and Monty if you care," Scotty says with that amused and astounded smile of his.

Jasel nods cordially again.

"You can call me Nyota," Uhura says, tolerably enough.

Jasel's response is different this time. He presses his hand flat against his stomach with a slight bow. There's something quite regal and charming about it.

Uhura just soaks it up with that slightly coy grin of hers.

Jim internally admits to a sliver of jealousy at that.

Spock lifts his hand in the Vulcan salute and says, "I am Spock—son of Sarek and Amanda of the _Sbah For'ma'ji_ of Vulcan."

Jasel straightens and for a second he looks completely at home on the ship. As if something in Spock's greeting had done away with some kind of discontent inside of him. "I acknowledge you, son of Sarek, and wish to—relay my sympathies for your fallen kingdom," he replies, looking as earnest as he sounds.

Spock stiffens, as does everyone on the bridge, and there is a moment where he wordlessly assesses Jasel. His dark eyes show several responses he wants to give, but in the end he just inclines his head in acceptance.

Jasel's shoulders relax a little further.

"Well, then," Jim says, breaking the pondering silence and regaining the focus again. "That's that," she says as she pats Jasel's head gently.

Jasel stiffens in awareness, and Jim wonders a little if he had forgotten her hand was even there. "Remove your hand, Jester, or you shall find yourself without it," he warns lowly, a dark blush adjourning his pale cheeks.

Jim grins, pats him twice for good measure and drops her hand. "As you can tell—he is a charmer," she jokes.

Jasel promptly resumes his glowering.

Jim turns to Scotty. "What's the situation?"

"Ah!" Scotty perks up with a purpose. "Turn your eyes to the screen, Captain. You'll see what's amiss." He gestures to the main view screen.

Jim shifts her body, and feeling as if she's too close, she steps back a few paces until her back makes contact with the front of the helm.

The vid playing shifts to the beginning again, and Jim watches—searches—the screen for sight of the ship, which is floating innocently, suspended in space. Then the angles of the ship—the metallic structure—begins cracking in, as if it were being pummeled by asteroids the size of soccer balls. Invisible soccer-sized asteroids.

Jim frowns and shifts a step closer as the ship folds into itself with sparks and flickers of flame. It was like watching some surreal manifestation of a science experiment gone wrong. The ship was sinking into itself as if there were some type of black hole located in its very center, forcing the steel structure of the ship to implode. Then, within another spark, it's gone. Just like that. With no evidence or sign that it had ever existed in the first place, the area once more was clear.

The vid cuts short with a flicker before it loops to the beginning again.

"Just how does that happen?" Jim whispers, mostly to herself, and she watches the replay. She soaks in every element, every motion, and every detail of the vid until it streams into her mind in a sequence of well oiled calculations, quantum codes and physic equations. Theoretically, what she is witnessing should not be possible. "When did this happen?" she asks, pulling herself out of the haze that is her own genius.

"No more than twelve minutes ago," Scotty replies and his face scrunches in contemplation and confused frustration. "I hadn't found a thing out of place before then. Cannot make heads or tails of it. And trust me, I spent every minute searching for anything askew."

Chekov nods enthusiastically as he adds, "It was same for me as well. We both look and then, the ship, it vanishes! Just like that, Keptin!"

"I too am perplexed by the turn of events," Spock confesses. "Logically, there would be no reason for the ship to dissolve as it did. Our scanners and sensors detected no signs of an anomaly within or near the vicinity of the ship."

"Albert E. is rolling in his grave. The theory of general relativity is now a useless justification. The paradox really is the pathos," Jim mutters dryly, carelessly tossing out a super-nerdy inside joke that she's sure no one else will really pick up on.

But Spock—of course _Spock_—is quick to her odd wit. His eyebrow quirks in question but his dark eyes say he has caught on and that he is only marginally amused. "A valid point," he assents. "Partial differential equations should suffice, however."

Jim tongues the roof of her mouth thoughtfully, and then she shakes her head. She will so not acknowledge this as a comradely moment because she's decided not to care anymore. She will not care. Spock can sit on it and spin for all she cares (which she doesn't), just as long as they both are somewhat civil and can do their jobs properly.

Jim relaxes her tongue to speak. "I don't know how partial you'll find differential equations in this instance," she says, clasping her right hand over the opposite shoulder.

"It is a start," Spock counters.

"True," Jim admits with a sigh. "Though—multivariable functions are not a strength of mine," she confesses. "So I'll have to leave that to you."

"Very well," Spock says and he reveals his PADD from behind his back and runs his stylus over it, dark eyes focused in concentration.

Everyone else just looks confused—save Chekov, the little astrophysics genius.

"Uhura, put your ear to any open waves in the area. I have a feeling we're being watched, and if they make a sound, I want us to be the first to hear it," Jim instructs.

Uhura's delicate shoulders tighten in acknowledgement. "Aye, Captain," and she's off to her station, pressing a hand to her earpiece and begins working her magic.

Jim shifts her gaze to the screen. "Clear the screen," she says.

Someone does.

"Mr. Chekov, Mr. Scott—turn your attention to the debris and fragments from the demolished outposts. Study them good—I want you to tell me just what they went head to head with. Mr. Spock and I will worry about the unregistered ship—or lack of," Jim orders.

Chekov and Scotty nod. They use the main view screen as their playground, enhancing the scenery of the area to virtually survey things, muttering some conclusions back and forth as they do so.

Jim glances at Mitchell for a moment, without even meaning to really, but he doesn't notice. His green eyes are fixed to the newly emptied view screen. Though his face is as blank and bare as an untouched canvas, his eyes gleam in an odd way that is a tad unsettling.

_Just what are you playing at? _Jim silently wonders.

"Mitchell," Jim says, eyes meeting his eerily blank ones. "Man the helm."

Mitchell stares at her blankly for a moment before he spins on his heel and rounds the console, where he proceeds to fold himself over it, thrusting his hands out and over with expert grace.

Something about the way he is acting is digging at Jim on the inside, yet she can't quite pin what the uneasy feeling is or means. "Prince," she starts as her eyes lower to Jasel's frowning face. "You don't seem the slightest bit surprised about what happened to the ship."

Jasel's mouth purses. "What is it that you mean to imply, Jester?" he mutters unhappily. Still, he doesn't deny a thing.

"You offered an explanation," Jim points out instead. "So, explain. Explain to me what that was or why it happened."

Jasel holds her stare for a good minute before he surveys her bridge. Then, his eyes find hers again. "This is a difficult thing you ask," he murmurs. "Privacy is required."

"If you're giving answers, then privacy is what you'll get—though," Jim glances to Spock. "I ask that you allow my First Officer to be present."

Jasel straightens and regards her with an odd look. She can't place it. "If that is your wish," he replies.

Jim nods and gestures to the door on right side of the bridge. "We can talk in my Ready Room," she suggests. Turning, she says, "Chekov?"

Chekov jabs his finger towards the main view screen with a severe frown, muttering something to Scotty before he rededicates his attention to Jim. "Yes, Keptin?" he says, expression changing from annoyed to patient expectance.

He is so getting adopted.

"You have the conn," Jim says and he nods. She places a hand on Jasel's shoulder, ignoring his glare, and steers him forward. She pauses in front of Spock, who is still standing beside the helm, PADD poised and stylus moving with fervor. "Mr. Spock."

Without looking up, Spock replies, "Captain?"

"The Prince has some things he would like to share," Jim says simply.

Spock pauses and lowers his PADD. His dark eyes flicker to Jasel and then to her. He must sense the importance of the situation because his posture straightens and he hides his PADD, along with his hands, behind his back as he stands at attention.

Jim figures that's as much of a consensus as she's going to get so she continues to lead the way to the Captain's Ready Room. She enters her personalized key code and the door whooshes open.

Spock and Jasel make no move to enter first. They glance at her expectantly.

Jim sighs quietly and passes through the threshold.

Spock and Jasel follow predictably.

The door whooshes close behind them, and Jim makes a gesture to one of the armchairs on the other side of her work desk as she sits behind it.

Spock stands beside her, then, with some consideration, repositions himself further away and stands near the edge of desk's corner.

Jim gives him a mental middle finger as she folds her hands over her desk. She watches as Jasel settles carefully on the armchair to the right, and seats himself like a king on his throne.

"What do you wish to know?" Jasel asks.

Jim contemplates the question, even as she says, "Anything. Everything."

Jasel frowns guardedly again. "Harcourt Mudd," he replies. "Sometimes Fenton, often Harry."

Jim is confused.

It must show because Jasel sighs long-sufferingly. "The man, Jester. The one I mentioned before," he clarifies. "These were the names he bore."

Jim catches on quickly. "Were. As in past tense," she points out.

Jasel's eyelids lower and he looks as if he's physically restraining himself from fidgeting. "Yes," he admits with great reluctance. "He is no more."

"What was his previous state?" Spock queries.

Jasel looks uncomfortable with the question. "Alive. He lived for the short period of our captivity," he responds.

Jim leans forward. "When was the last time you were home?"

"The turn of the year had come and the birth of spring was imminent at this point," Jasel pauses, and looks as if he's considering something. "By your earthly seasons, Jester—it would have meant February's midpoint."

Jim feels a whole new line of questioning that bubbles up in her mind and explodes into deep seeded curiosity. But, she makes herself stick to the subject at hand for the moment. "So you've been away from home since the middle of February," she deducts. Currently, it was the second week of April. "That's almost three months," she murmurs thoughtfully.

Jasel says nothing to that.

"What happened to Mudd?" Jim asks.

"He is no more," Jasel replies.

Jim—sweet, patient Jim—steadies her gaze on him and asks, "Just _how _did he become no more?"

"By perishing," Jasel retorts.

"Under what circumstances?" Spock questions, coming to Jim's aid.

Jasel says nothing.

"You said that you would explain," Jim points out.

Jasel says nothing.

Jim exhales quietly and leans back in her chair. "I can make a few guesses about what happened to Mudd," she says. "And one of my theories say that what happened to that ship is what happened to Mudd—intentional, supernatural destruction."

Jasel lowers his gaze. "I never touched him. Even in all the anguish he wrought my sisters and I. Never once had I—never once."

"No one touched the ship either. Destruction doesn't often require physical contact."

"No. It does not. But that is not the way of my people."

Jim brings her folded hands down to her lap. She decides to try a different method when it's obvious he isn't going to become anymore forthcoming. "How was he able to steal you away?" she asks.

Jasel lifts his gaze and relaxes his shoulders, but he still sits stiff. "He was a very unwise man, but the methods to his madness often had quality," he replies.

Jim grins. "Is that a pretty way of saying you don't know?"

Jasel scowls. "Do not mock me, Jester. It is you who lacks the proper comprehension of mobility," he retorts.

"Okay. Help me understand," Jim proposes.

"I have drawn a simple chart for you. This should suffice," Jasel mutters stubbornly.

"You're awfully vague with your explanations, Prince," Jim states blandly.

Jasel expression turns thunderous. "But I am giving them nonetheless, despite your utter lack of gratefulness," he snaps.

"You haven't given me much to be grateful for," Jim comments. "You're confessions are more of a hindrance than a help."

Jasel glares. He glares as if he's willing her death to come as quickly and as painfully as possible. But then, just like a switch, his expression shudders and clears completely. "You do not understand," he mumbles tiredly. "You do not comprehend the severity of—" he hesitates before he exhales shakily. "There is no where safe. Even if I would wish to clarify and supply you with all the answers you seek—I can not." He glances at Spock, who has been quiet for sometimes before his gaze lowers to Jim.

"Prince—you can trust us," Jim assures.

"This is not what irks me," Jasel grumbles, tightening his hand into a fist. "Nothing happens by accident, Jester. I cannot lead you to a river—I can only point the way. The same goes for your questions. I'll provide what I can, but you will have to draw your own conclusions."

Jim feels like she's been bumped back to square one. "At least explain to me why you and your sisters refuse to be more forthcoming," she bargains.

Jasel doesn't frown. He makes no face to this request at all. He just sits there and ping pongs his gaze between Jim and Spock. Then, he looks directly up. His eyes shift slightly, as if he's following some kind of movement above them, and then he says, "You harbor a prestidigitator." His eyes lower and he meets her gaze. "There is a Conjurer in your midst."

"Conjurer…" Jim repeats faintly. "As in the science-magic you mentioned before?"

Jasel neither confirms nor denies. "Conjurers are privy to the thoughts of those who lack the _Mage_—" he pauses and seems to be searching for the proper word for it. "The will of the three—mind, body and spirit," he concludes. With a gesture to his temple, he adds, "Too many undefended pathways."

"We're an open book is what your saying," Jim says. "Easy to read, and that's why you'd rather not share everything that you know. It wouldn't take much to see it all. Is that right?"

"Yes," Jasel says. "My sisters and I have been trained to guard ourselves and gird our loins against such pillaging, but many of those not of Simperion are not. You are artless as prey and susceptible to the cheap tricks and manipulations of a Conjurer." He slides his eyes over to Spock. "Your First Officer understands the concepts of which I speak. His kind is the model that we have mirrored after." Then he frowns with disapproval. "I have spoken too much."

Jim disagrees and she very much would like to get an understanding of what he means.

But Spock beats her to it. "You are familiar to the ways of Surak," he notes with obvious curiosity.

Jasel lips twitch into an almost smile and he looks as if he's on the verge of spilling some glorious secret. "There are some things that transcend even space and light and time, son of Sarek," and he does not elaborate.

They stare wordlessly at each other for a good few minutes.

Jim is highly suspicious that they may be bonding somehow and that makes her feel terribly out of the loop. "Can you tell me who the Conjurer might be?"

"I am—young," Jasel admits with great reluctance. "I have only come so far, and the least I can do is sense them. Nothing more. They often shroud themselves with concealments to remain hidden and blend themselves. All things I am unable to see beyond at the moment."

Jim is disappointed but she understands. "I want to ask you something else," she says.

Jasel looks at her expectantly.

"_Mage_. I've heard that word before. It's a Latin root. Means magic doesn't it?" Jim asks.

"Most of our language is comprised of such terms. We borrow from all realms and master the dialects so that we can use them in excursions and encounters," Jasel explains.

"Which brings to mind another question," Jim says. "The chart you drew. You said that our moon was yours as well. That it was a compass for all realms and the guiding factor for the bridges. Such knowledge means your people are well-traveled. How does it work exactly?"

Jasel sports that guarded frown again, and Jim worries he will not answer. But then he says, "My father once mentioned that your Earth has something called the Seven Wonders."

"Yes," Jim says slowly.

Jasel gives her this pointed look and says, "Yes."

Jim feels like she's missing something.

"Draw your own conclusions, Jester," Jasel says firmly with an eye roll.

Spock clarifies, "He implies that you would find the answers you seek in reference to Earth's noteworthy constructions of classical antiquity."

"Ah," Jim says, finally understanding. "That I can do, I suppose. Luckily research is my favorite pastime."

Jasel says nothing, but he looks at her as if she's odd.

"Why were you three taken, exactly?" Jim asks suddenly. "Were you being held for ransom?"

Jasel hesitates. "I—do not know why," he admits.

Jim presses her fingers to her mouth thoughtfully. "Well," she begins again. "Was there anything that Mudd asked you to do?"

Jasel frowns thoughtfully. "Not entirely," he says. "But," and here he hesitates again. "There was one thing."

Jim leans forward expectantly.

"He asked me to draw," Jasel confesses. "Mostly star charts."

Jim considers what that could possibly mean. Maybe Mudd was looking for something—or maybe he was truly insane. She opens her mouth to ask another question.

Jasel has none of it though. "Enough, Jester," he interjects, quite wearily. "You will get no more from me. I have given you enough."

Jim closes her mouth and refrains from doing anything childish like pouting or whining. "Yes," she sighs. "Yes, okay." She stands to her feet and Jasel does as well. "I guess we're done here then," she decides.

"Jester, if I may," Jasel starts. "I would like to have an audience with your First Officer. Alone."

Jim glances between them, but they are looking at her expectantly. "Sure. Why not?" she mutters. "Though I don't see _why _I can't be present."

Jasel glowers at her.

Jim lifts her hands to show she's harmless. "Fine, fine. I'm leaving," she assures. She walks to the door and it whooshes open. "I'll be right out here," she gestures to the bridge.

"Jester," Jasel calls, just as she steps through the door.

Jim cocks her head and looks at him over her shoulder.

Jasel eyes her for a moment. "Do not go far," he warns.

Jim quirks an eyebrow. "What am I, a dog? I hadn't planned on it," she replies.

Jasel nods, seeming to approve of her response.

Strange.

Jim turns again as the door whooshes close behind her and she moves to join Chekov and Scotty. She uses this to distract herself from thinking about the possible conversation that Jasel and Spock are having.

It works for a good fifteen minutes before Spock and Jasel reappear again.

Jim feels curiosity eating away at her mind as she watches Spock return to his station. She leaves it alone though, even as Jasel joins her side and watches her work alongside Chekov and Scotty with considerable silence and palpable disinterest.

When she returns her focus to the screen and to the equations she's scribbled along, up, down and slanted against it, she's able to forget her speculation. She's able to immerse herself in her theories and forget anyone else exists.

An hour later, with no particular conclusions drawn, even with the combined genius of Scotty and Chekov, she feels small fingers wrap around her wrist and guide her hand down to a particular equation she wrote at the bottom of the screen. Jim blinks and glances at Jasel, whose face gives nothing away, save for the light blush on his cheeks. He doesn't bother looking at her, and instead he pointedly stares at the equation he's directed her to before he straightens and glances away, feigning disinterest once more.

Jim blinks up at him from her crouch before she blinks at her equation. Then, surely enough, it dawns on her. The one thing she's missed, has been right there all along. She perks up with a grin, presses her fingers to the equation and drags it up the screen as she stands until it's directly in front of her.

"Look at this," Jim says to Chekov and Scotty, who are arguing about something—again. When she grabs their attention, she maximizes her equation and circles it heavily with her stylus.

Scotty blinks. "Well would you look at that," he marvels.

"Keptin, you have found solution!" Chekov exclaims, looking at her and her equation with equal awe.

Jim glances at Jasel for a moment, but he's still avoiding her gaze, so she glances back to Chekov and Scotty. "Yes I suppose I did—with a bit of help," she replies. "But now we know for sure that we aren't the only ones out here," she points out.

"Aye," Scotty nods gravely. "According to the trajectory points you've pinpointed here," he points to one part of her equation. "And the force exerted, here," he points to another part. "The damage was done with excitement to the molecular bonds."

"Disruptors," Chekov concludes. "The ones responsible possess the cannons and turrets necessary to exert damage."

"Leaving six possible culprits," Jim adds. "Romulans, Klingons, Breen, Cardassians, Iridians and Orions."

"But we're closer to one," Scotty points out.

"Exactly," Jim grins.

"Excuse me, Keptin, but I am not understanding this," Chekov confesses with an adorable frown. "Why would Romulans want to destroy outposts?"

Jim lifts her hands with an honest shrug. "I don't know," she admits. "It's unclear. Maybe they're after something or maybe they just like blasting high-energy beams at defenseless opponents. It's difficult to say."

"Captain, I have a blip on the motion sensor," Hannity says from her ops station.

Jim turns and strides over to look over Hannity shoulder. "Clear the screen and magnify the source of it," she instructs as she turns and sits down in the Captain's seat.

"Aye, Captain," Hannity responds and does as ordered.

Jasel stands wordlessly on the left side of her chair, and he's tense with alertness.

Jim frowns because nothing can be seen. "Hannity?"

"I've done just as you asked, Captain. This is the positioning source from the motion sensor," Hannity assures.

Jim feels her eyebrows furrow thoughtfully.

"Invisibility is theoretically possible, Captain, with selective bending of light," Spock offers as a way of explanation from his station.

Jim watches as Chekov returns to his station while Scotty follows and stands alongside of him.

"They are perusing, Captain," Hannity speculates. "They fly leisurely and their heading hasn't changed—in fact," she pauses for a moment. "They seem to be—duplicating us."

"That's because they're watching us," Jim states. "And so far—I don't think they know we are aware of them."

"Picking up communication, Captain," Uhura says. She presses her hand to her earpiece as her eyes flick back and forth with unseen searching. "It's a confirmation."

"Confirmation to what?" Jim questions.

Uhura listens for a few more moments before she shakes her head. "There was no elaboration. Transmission has ended."

Jim sighs but nods. "Mr. Spock, are we still maintaining red?"

"Red alert maintained," Spock confirms.

"Cancel it. All decks to standby," Jim instructs.

Mitchell's shoulders stiffen. "With all due respect, ma'am," he begins, without even turning to face her. "Is that such a good idea? Even as we know that they are the ones responsible for the attacks and are spying on us?"

"Who said anything about spying?" Jim responds calmly. "There is a difference in observing and spying, Mr. Mitchell. We still lack the proper reasoning to engage and I will not engage unless there is no other choice."

Mitchell spins in his chair and he looks frustrated. "For all we know, that confirmation could have been their incentive to blow us to bits!"

"Or that they have their gazes locked on us," Jim counters.

"We don't know that for sure, this could be a trap, this whole thing, for all we know," Mitchell argues.

"Still not a probable cause for engagement until they mean to engage us first," Jim replies.

"And we wait, is that it, for them to make the first move? What if their first move is our _last_?"

"What would you have me to do?"

"Attack them first. Do it quickly. Don't even give them time think on it. They're still on our side of the Neutral Zone—wouldn't that mean they've broken the treaty?"

"Attacking an invisible target, though genius in theory, is not in reality."

Mitchell's mouth shrivels unhappily.

"Move forward and watch them as they watch us. If they move in every way that we do then we know they've brought us here for a reason that's less to do with atomizing us. So until otherwise, let's play at being ignorant to their presence," Jim says firmly.

Mitchell looks as if he disagrees, but he doesn't make a move to verbalize it. He spins away in his chair and doesn't say another word.

"All decks on standby, Captain," Spock says, breaking the awkward silence of the bridge.

"Good," Jim mutters. "Uhura, keep listening for anything on their side. You might find something forthcoming."

Uhura nods and turns back to her station.

"Mr. Spock, what did you make of what happened to the unregistered ship?" Jim says and turns her chair in his direction as Jasel steps back to allow the movement.

"My calculations have theorized possible energy sparks being the source of the implosion," Spock answers.

Jim contemplates this with a great deal of consideration.

Spark: something possibly electric.

Jim recalls the moment in Spock's personal quarters with Riesa and Leona, and what they did to Spock's plant.

Jim knows with inevitable clarity that she will have to have that conversation with Bones as soon as possible.

888

The end of Jim's shift finds her accompanying Scotty down to engineering because apparently that's where Bones is.

It's not until she finds him watching Leona and Riesa playing with Max does it answer the question of why.

Max is the first to spot Jim. He barks happily and gallops around her ankles, and paws his way up her legs as his tail wags enthusiastically, tongue out and all.

Jim laughs and crouches down to him. "Hello to you too, Max," she greets and makes kissy faces at him, much to his delight.

"Lady Jim!" Leona and Riesa almost knock Jim sideways when they throw their small bodies into hers.

Jim steadies herself and wraps her arms around the two with an amused smile. "I don't think I was gone that long," she comments.

"_Far _too long," Riesa moans, face hidden into the side of Jim's neck.

Leona nods in agreement as she swats at Jim's ponytail playfully.

"And I had to hear all about it," Bones grumbles with his usual sourpuss face, arms crossed and all. "Lady Jim this, Lady Jim that. You'd think they've known you all their lives."

Jim snorts and shrugs in a 'what can you do, I'm irresistible' sort of way. "Which begs the question, Bones," she says as she peers up at him coyly. "You _have_ known me for some years. So what does that say about you?"

"Madly in love, I reckon. Insanely even," Bones retorts dryly.

Jim grins and shakes her eyebrows suggestively before she gathers to her feet, Leona and Riesa still pinned to her hips and Max pawing at her legs.

Jasel eyes them all as if they were oddities, but then his stomach rumbles really loudly and he blushes.

Leona and Riesa burst with delightful laughter and start dancing around their older brother. "Jasel, Jasel—king of kings. Fickle boy with fickle dreams!"

"I swear by the League of Realms, I will dispatch your heads and have them mounted upon a staff of my choosing," Jasel growls, glaring at them with genuine annoyance.

Leona and Riesa just skip around him, blowing kisses.

Jasel sighs and resigns himself to his sisters taunting.

Jim finds it enjoyably adorable.

Bones steps in close beside her and says, "Let's go to lunch."

"I'm all for that," Jim agrees. "Then we can finally pick up on what we left off on this morning."

Bones nods but frowns as he glances around. "Where's that damn engineer of yours?" he asks. "Had a bone to pick with him."

Jim snorts. "If he's smart, he's made himself scarce," she points out.

"I'll find him," Bones promises darkly.

Jim is not envious of Scotty in the least. "Well," she says loudly as she claps Bones roughly over the shoulder, making him glare as he catches himself from tipping over. "It's lunch time kids! What do you say?"

"FOOD!" Leona and Riesa exclaim, jumping into a heroic pose.

Jasel glowers. "Your behavior is appalling," he mutters to them.

They stick their tongue out at him in response.

Jim smiles fondly and glances down at Max, who has his head cocked right back at her. His tail goes wagging when he sees he has her attention. "Why don't you run along and find Scotty. Give him just a little hell. Just a little," she suggests.

Max barks in utter compliance and darts out of sight.

"Alright," Jim sighs, clapping her hands together decisively. "Lead the way Bones."

He does.

They end up running into Chekov and Uhura along the way, so Jim invites them to join them.

"You must want something," Uhura speculates as they all stride down the corridor to the Mess Hall.

Jim peers at her innocently. "Want? What means this word '_want_'?" she says, feigning ignorance.

Uhura scoffs, not amused at all. "Kirk, what do you want?"

"You need to lighten up, Nyota," Jim replies. "And if you must know—I would be forever grateful if you can watch the kids for a moment or two so I can have some grownup talk with my CMO."

Uhura glances at her and then over her shoulder at Bones, who is sandwiched between Leona and Riesa. The twins have both his hands captive in his own. "So. The rumors are true," she says offhandedly.

Jim frowns. "What rumors?"

Uhura shrugs faintly and she faces forward again. She eyes Chekov, who is trying earnestly to engage a reluctant Jasel in conversation. "Just a few things floating through personnel about you and Dr. McCoy," she says.

Jim holds her peace all but for a second. "And what's this rumor that I seemed to have unintentionally confirmed?" she asks carefully.

Uhura tosses her an odd look. "That you two are as thick as thieves. Why? What did you think I was going to say?" she asks. Lowering her voice, she says, "That you two are undercover fuck buddies? Cause there's that rumor too."

Jim chokes on God knows what and Uhura looks so self-satisfied as they cross the threshold into the Mess Hall.

"Leona, Riesa, why don't you come have lunch with me. I could use some company," Uhura asks with a small smile.

Leona and Riesa peer at Jim apprehensively.

"Go on, it's fine," Jim assures.

"What about you, Lady Jim?" Riesa asks.

Leona adds, "We wouldn't leave you alone."

"Oh that's alright. Bones here will join me," Jim replies, thrusting her thumb over her shoulder in his direction.

Leona and Riesa perk up at that and nod before they grab ahold of Uhura's hands with their own.

"What would you like to eat?" Uhura asks them as they walk off to find a table.

"Come on, let's find our own table," Bones grumps and glowers at the fullness of the Mess. He isn't one for huge crowds.

Jim nods and glances at Chekov and Jasel who have already found a table for themselves and seemed to be debating something quite heatedly.

Bones settles into a small table that's only two tables away from Chekov and Jasel. "What do you want?" he asks, arms crossed.

Jim slides into a seat with a shrug. "Uh—see if they have any turkey burgers," she says.

Bones mutters something that sounds like a consent and disappears.

"And a candy bar!" Jim calls.

"No."

Jim chuckles and thinks, oh well, she tried.

It takes Bones a good thirteen minutes to return with their food. "Damn lines," he grumps, looking thoroughly unhappy with the existence of others.

Jim drags her tray in close with a snort. "I love how much of a people person you are, _Doctor_ Bones," she teases.

"Ha, ha," Bones retorts dryly. He stabs his fork into his chicken salad viciously and strangles the ranch dressing out of the packet.

Jim quirks an eyebrow at him as she chews. "Uh, Bones? You know the hard part is over right? The chicken is definitely and certifiably dead," she points out.

"Shut it."

Jim grins and swallows. Then she perks up. "Awe Bones you do love me!" she exclaims as she notices the chocolate pudding cup in the corner of her tray.

"Don't know what you mean, Kid," Bones denies, shoving another forkful of salad between his pouty lips.

"Sure you don't," Jim counters with a wink. She completely deserts her turkey burger and starts shoveling spoonful after spoonful of pudding into her mouth.

"Oh for the love of—Christ, Jim!" Bones pounds a fist into the table. "Eat your goddamn food first you godforsaken three year old!"

Jim laughs and almost chokes on said pudding. "Too late, Papa McCoy. Already done!" she says. She drops the emptied pudding cup, leaning back in her seat with a satisfied sigh and pats her tummy. Then she frowns and says, "I always get so sad when I get to the end of those."

Bones stares at her for a good minute before he shakes his head and just returns to his food.

They finish their respective meals in companionable silence.

Jim offers to put away their trays and Bones grunts in a way that means he could care less. When she returns, it's with another pudding cup and shrugs innocently when Bones glares.

It takes an even shorter time to finish the pudding. "So—about what we were talking about earlier," Jim says, wiping the corners of her mouth with her fingers as she drops her spoon into the empty cup.

Bones makes a face. "Forgot my PADD," he says.

Jim stands. "Hold on," she says and strides over to Chekov and Jasel, who are in the middle of eating a sizeable portion of spaghetti. "Chekov can I borrow your PADD for a second?"

Chekov beams. "Of course, Keptin!" He happily hands it over.

"Thanks," Jim smiles and takes it. "You two have fun now," she says as she pinches Jasel gently on his cheek.

Jasel swats her hands away and looks as if he wants to bite her fingers off. "Away with you, Jester," he grumbles. "We were engaged in cerebral conversation."

"A thousand apologies, Prince," Jim says with a grin but then it falters.

Chekov peers at her curiously. "Keptin?"

Jim furrows her eyebrows.

Jasel even looks concerned. "Is it well with you, Jester?"

Jim blinks promptly and shakes her head. "Ah—sorry about that. Got hit with some hardcore déjà vu for some reason," she explains and tries for a smile. She waves and turns to join Bones again. "So here. I swiped it from Chekov. Now pull up whatever you wanted to show me and I can know what I want to ask you," she says, handing it over as she repositions her seat and plops it down right beside his.

Bones mutter something under his breath as he takes the PADD. He taps his finger over it and glides his finger around the screen like he's trying to write his own signature a hundred times. "Somethin' I noticed last night when I was givin' them their physicals," he says. The he magnifies an image and thrusts it towards it Jim. "Take a gander."

"Prefer swans, but sure," Jim retorts and cocks her head as she runs her eyes over the CAT scans. Her eyebrows accelerate towards her hairline. "Bones—I don't know all there is about human neurology, but I know that's not supposed to be like _that_."

"Damn straight," Bones agrees. "Those kids got an abnormal overflow of electrochemistry. Hell, they're more charged than a thunderstorm. And the thing about it is that instead of punchin' holes in the membranes of their cells or cardiac arrest, they just absorb it like a human insulator. You understand me, Jim? They can discharge it at will."

"I believe it, trust me. I've actually witnessed it," she admits and then quickly launches into an explanation about Spock's plant and how they were able to make it bloom.

"Well I'll be," Bones mutters as he leans back in his seat, looking stumped. "Does that mean Hogwarts really exists?"

Jim splutters into laughter as Bones grins. "You did not just make that joke."

Bones shrugs faintly. "Joanna used always beg me to read her those cracked up books whenever I managed to stumble my way home early from a forty-eight hour shift," he confesses. He frowns. "So they really did that to pointy-ear's weed?"

"Oh don't looked stumped yet, there's more," Jim says. She starts from the beginning of things, quieting her voice as she lays out the day's events in detail.

Bones's face slumps. "I need a drink," he mutters.

Jim scoffs. "It's not all bad. I consider this to be normal," she confesses.

Bones peers at her slowly, eyebrow raised. "We might be on the brink of interspace war and you figure that as normal?"

"Bones, shut up. There's no brink of anything. We're just being stalked by a couple of Romulans," Jim points out.

"And what about Mitchell?" Bones retorts. "He's got a hand in this I'm sure. Even his royal highness over there confirmed that there's someone aboard who isn't in the up and up."

"Circumstantial evidence never holds up in court, Bones," Jim replies easily enough. "Trust me, I'd lock him up as soon as I thought I'd have something concrete to pin on him. But I don't and it's just hearsay."

"And what do the coattails of Starfleet have to say about all this?" Bones asks.

Jim shrugs. "Nothing because they don't know," she replies.

"_Jim…_"

"What? What do you want me to say?" Jim grumbles. "We've got a possible enemy ship matching us move for move. You really think relaying all our circumstances via comm while a third party listens in is a smart move?"

Bones makes a face, but he seems like he understands. "Yeah, well—don't like it any less. I'd rather someone be aware that I'm about to be blown to high heaven instead of after the fact," he gripes.

Jim rolls her eyes. "You and your over-dramatics. Have a little faith in me, Bones. I won't let anything happen to you," she promises.

Bones has the audacity to look a little sheepish at that. "Jim, I didn't mean—"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm used to being underestimated," Jim says with a mild shrug. "Don't worry about it."

"Shove it, Kid. You know I wasn't implyin' you're incapable of doing your job cause that's a whole world away from the truth. You know how I get sometimes. Don't pay me any mind," Bones says.

Jim smiles slowly as she peers over at him. "All I _can _do is pay you mind. Who else is going to keep you on your toes otherwise?"

Bones actually snorts at that.

Jim yawns and curses as her eyes water.

"Well that just settles it," Bones says as he watches her. "You need to relax."

Jim frowns disapprovingly. "I've got stuff to do, Bones."

"Your _stuff_ can wait, Jim," Bones says firmly. "Your health, however, will not."

Jim pouts but doesn't try to argue. "Fine. I guess I can call it a night like some kind of old person." She stands to her feet. "Come back to mine for a bit?"

"Sure," Bones mutters and stands as well.

Jim spends the next moment collecting Leona, Riesa and Jasel from various points in the Mess. She thanks Uhura and returns Chekov's PADD to Chekov. She ends up inviting him along in the process and the six of them strut through the corridor and end up in Jim's personal quarters.

Jim suggests they play a round of UNO, so they crowd her living room floor and huddle around her coffee table.

After the first game, she's so tired (and losing epically) that she can't keep her eyes open.

"M'gonna go lay down for a minute. Don't start the next game without me," Jim slurs and stumbles from her living area and over to her bed where she collapses and absolutely passes out.

For some reason she dreams about purple helicopters.

Jim wakes an hour later to see them all eating ice cream and playing Jenga. She snorts and closes her eyes at the sight of Jasel and Bones reaching out at the same time with the same amount of determined concentration towards the crooked tower of wooden blocks. It's not long before she falls into another deep slumber.

The next thing she dreams is clouds and light.

Jim is boiling when she falls into consciousness again. She frowns and blinks as she lifts her head only to see she's buried beneath a sleeping Leona and Riesa and her thick comforter.

Jim carefully pries herself from underneath them and crawls to the edge of the bed. She runs the back of her hand over her sweating forehead and narrows her eyes to see into the darkness. She can't really make out much, but she's pretty sure it's well past midnight and—gross, she slept in her uniform.

"Shower needed," Jim mutters as she stands and swipes some sweatpants and a white tank (with some choice underwear) from her dresser. She tucks the clothes under her armpit and tiptoes over to the couch.

Jasel is sprawled face down over it, his head hidden under his pillow, blanket bunched down at his waist.

Jim turns and slides into the bathroom to take a much-needed shower. When she's clean and dressed, she returns while towel drying her hair and then fishtails it into a side ponytail. She feels too wide-awake to go back to sleep. She figures she ought to do some work, so she tiptoes over to her work desk and grabs one of her PADDs from the top drawer. She settles into her seat and props up her feet as it boots up.

Jim leans back as it reaches the applications page. She's getting ready to check all of her notifications when a priority message pops up.

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CMO LEONARD H. MCCOY VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Jim,_

_Don't even think about it. Go to bed. No need to wonder how I know, I have my ways. _

_GO TO GODDAMN BED!_

_Always a Step Ahead of You,_

_McCoy_

Jim rolls her eyes and slumps in her seat. So much for that. She shuts the PADD down with a sigh and then returns it to the drawer it came from. She rubs the back of her neck thoughtfully as her face scrunches while she peers into the darkness of her room. Honestly she doesn't think she can just go back to bed.

She stands and tiptoes to the bathroom again. The door whooshes close behind her as the lights blink on. She crouches down as she digs through her drawers, and second drawer from the top she manages to unearth her favorite book from under a sea of makeup, cotton balls and nail polish.

The nail polish just gives her another idea. Well, two ideas. Okay three ideas.

First idea: Quietly procure some apple flavored popcorn and chocolate covered raisins, combine and devour.

Second idea: Paint toenails—possibly navy blue or popsicle orange. She's yet to decide.

Third idea: Do these things on the sink counter in the bathroom while reading favorite novel.

This is how Jim ends up at two in the morning. With her back pressed to the adjacent wall of the mirror, on the wide expanse of the sink counter in the bathroom. She has a purple colored cleansing mask hardening on her face (because for some reason she decided she needed a facial too), and a mega bowl of popcorn and chocolate coated raisinets between her legs as she attempts to paint her toe nails and read at the same time.

Well, that's how Spock finds her at least.

Jim's so enraptured in this glorious multitasking, she fails to notice Spock crowding his doorway and watching her with a quirked eyebrow.

Then, feeling something probe at the back of her mind, her eyes snap up and find his.

Two beats of silence past like this.

Then Jim straightens and says, "What? I'm a woman. We're certifiably insane."

"Indeed?" Spock replies evenly but there is definite humor in those dark eyes of his.

Jim gives him a flat look. "You never caught Uhura doing something like this?" she asks and drops her gaze to her toes.

"I have not," Spock says.

Jim snorts and leans forward to continue her toenail painting. "That girl is lying to you then. She definitely is in denial about the combined consequences of estrogen and cosmetics—damn." She groans at the streak of orange that stains the skin of her littlest toe. She leans over and yanks open a drawer to grab some nail polish remover and a cotton ball. "You didn't need to use the bathroom did you? Should I get out?" she asks in a distracted fashion as she gets to work dabbing at her skin with the soaked cotton ball.

Spock doesn't reply.

This makes Jim glance up and she notices he looks uncomfortable. Maybe he does have to go to the bathroom.

"That will not be necessary," Spock finally says after some time. "I was merely attempting to—sate my curiosity."

Jim cocks her head and tries to furrow her eyebrows thoughtfully but the hardened mask makes any type of facial movement impossible. "You heard me humming," she deducts. "Not to mention all the other noises I must have been making. Don't worry. I'm not drunk or anything nor am I one of the kids attempting to deface the mirror or something," she assures.

Spock inclines his head.

"I'm also sorry if I'm being too loud. Couldn't sleep so I'm doing this instead. Reading and painting, turns out, is not as easy as it looks," Jim gives a mild shrug and arches her back in an attempt to relieve the discomfort she feels in her hips and lower back from her prolonged awkward hunching.

Spock dark eyes dart down to her toes and then over to the book in her hand. "_Through the Looking Glass_," he notes. "A work of Lewis Carroll."

Jim nods. "Yeah, it's—my favorite." Then, unsure if it's wise, she asks, "You're familiar with it?"

"My mother often was inclined to read such literature," Spock replies. "Lewis Carroll was among her favorites as well."

Jim leans back into the wall and chews at her bottom lip as a wave of awkward silence filters between them.

"I do not mean to be a disruption," Spock says after a moment. "I will leave you to continue."

"Um—yeah," Jim says faintly. It felt so fucking awkward, and she couldn't really figure out why. "Good night."

"I return the sentiment," Spock replies and steps out of his threshold, allowing the door to whoosh close.

Jim relaxes with a soft sigh and shakes her head, chuckling to herself when the confusion has passed. "How is this my life?" she mutters as she paws at a handful of popcorn and chocolate coated raisins and jams it into her mouth. She chuckles a little more while she goes back to reading.

Jim figures she takes podium for bizarreness in comparison to Alice.

888

Jim wakes up to an empty bed—an empty room in general. She frowns as she stretches out lazily like a cat and yawns as her body contorts blissfully. She sighs and slumps, relaxing her muscles as she blinks tiredly up at the ceiling. As she begins to wonder where the kids are, she hears voices echo from the bathroom and notices that the door is open. It takes her a good two minutes before she musters the courage to sit up, and another two minutes to actually slide out of bed. Her orange painted toes make contact with the cold floor and wriggle a bit (Jim mentally pats herself on the back for a choice well made) as she glances at her chronometer, which reads: _10:25 am_.

Jim doesn't remember what time she went to bed last night so she doesn't know how much sleep she's gotten. Then again, she did go to bed way earlier than usual so that must count too. She shrugs mostly to herself and clasps her right hand over the opposite shoulder as she treads to the open doorway of the bathroom. She frowns when she doesn't see the kids, but sees that Spock's doorway is open as well.

Jim strides through the bathroom to the opposite side, ignoring her disheveled reflection she spies out of the corner of her eye in the mirror and crowds Spock's doorway. She doesn't see them, but she can hear them and she figures they must be in his living area.

So that's where she goes, barefoot and all.

"Good morning," Jim greets, observing the kids, who were sitting on the floor beside Spock's plant eating breakfast, while Spock and Uhura eat at his work desk side by side.

"Lady Jim! Good morrow!" Riesa cries with a mouthful of bacon.

Leona is a bit more gracious. She waves as she shoves some more eggs into her mouth.

"Jester," Jasel merely greets as he butters his toast.

"Captain," Spock echoes in the same tone.

Uhura eyes her with a smirk. "So you're finally awake?" she says. "We were worried there for a second."

"I wasn't sleep that long," Jim protests. She turns to Leona, Riesa and Jasel "And I am just offended that you guys were having a family breakfast without me. That you were going to let me sleep through all this good food."

"Don't be so dramatic, Jester. We would have woken you at a point," Jasel assures in that haughtily patient way of his.

Leona nods in agreement as she picks up her mug of orange juice. "Yeah. When we woke up, I went to the bathroom and Lady Nyota was there. She heard my stomach make a noise liken unto some kind of irritable beast and asked if I wanted to join her and Lord Spock for breakfast and I said yes because I was _really _hungry. So I went back and gathered Riesa and Jasel and we came over here and starting eating."

"Then I wanted to go and wake you up so that you could partake of all the good food too, but Lord Spock advised me not to do so because he said you would be tired from having stayed up late and that it was only proper that you rouse yourself," Riesa adds before stuffing her mouth with more bacon.

Jim glances over at Spock, but his gaze is lowered towards the cup of tea he lifts to drink. So she turns her gaze back to the twins. "I can understand that I guess," she says. "Thank you, Uhura, Spock."

"Don't mention it, Kirk," Uhura simply says and lifts plate of eggs, bacon and toast, offering it. "Sit down, why don't you."

Jim feels her eyebrows lift but she accepts the plate and sits down across from them. "Sure. Why not?" she mutters.

Riesa hops up and approaches her with a fork. "Here, Lady Jim, for your food."

"Thanks, Riesa," Jim smiles and takes it.

"Jelly?" Uhura asks, and slides a few packets over.

Jim goes to grab it but Spock intervenes, and pulls them from her reach. "That would be unwise," he states.

Uhura frowns. "It's just jelly," she argues.

"Yeah, it's just jelly," Jim echoes.

"Captain, you can not. The contents are detrimental to your health," Spock replies.

Vulcan Translation: _You are allergic to it. Stop trying to kill yourself._

Jim gets it now. "Ah," she says. "Butter will do just as well, then," she decides and reaches for a few butter packets.

Riesa scrunches her face adorably. "Do you not like jam, Lady Jim?"

"I like it just fine," Jim explains, spreading butter on her toast. "There are just a lot of things I can't eat. I get bad food reactions, allergies."

"Oh," Riesa says.

"Spock, can I talk to you for a moment?" Uhura says lowly, fingers tightening over her spoon.

Spock inclines his head and they stand together, Uhura leading a trek to the bathroom.

Jim hears the door whooshes close and something inside of her says that it wouldn't be a pleasant conversation. She also gets the feeling that she's got something to do with it, but she doesn't really know why.

Riesa leans into her side and eyes Jim's untouched bacon wistfully.

Jim smiles, pleasantly distracted by the sight, and says, "Riesa. Do you want my bacon?"

"Yes, please," Riesa nods vigorously.

Jim chuckles and says, "Have at it then because I wont eat it. I don't like it."

Leona stands, rounds Jim to lean against her other side and places a mug filled with orange juice down by her plate. "In case you get thirsty," she explains.

Jim thanks her and focuses on finishing her food while sandwiched (as always) between the twins.

Jasel is quietly cleaning up after his sisters and himself, stacking plates and disposing of them.

It's a good fifteen minutes before Jim finishes her second helping of food. Leona and Riesa assist her with the bacon on her plate while Jasel stands at the edge of the work desk's side, arms crossed and silently watching them all.

When Jim is completely done and draining her mug of orange juice, Spock and Uhura reappear. You could practically feel the tension in another galaxy.

"Nyota—"

"I don't want to here it, Spock. You're despicable," Uhura hisses before she glances at Jim. "You both are." And she turns and leaves without another word.

Spock stays where he is, stiff posture and all, and continues to gaze after Uhura as if she were still there.

Jim feels something akin to anger and confusion unfurl inside of her. "Come on guys, let's head out," she says with false cheer as she stands.

Leona and Riesa take care of disposing her plate and mug, but not without glancing back and forth between her and Spock.

Jim sends Jasel along with his sisters back to her room. She hesitates beside Spock for a moment and says, "Is everything alright?"

"My personal matters are not of your concern, Captain," is Spock's swift reply. But the bite is taken out of this statement when he adds, "However, I offer my apologies for Nyota's reprehensible behavior."

Jim nods gravely. "It's fine, I'm used to it."

Spock gazes at her sharply, and there is a look in his eyes that she can't place. "That is a troublesome habit," he says.

Jim feels taken aback by these words, unsure of what to say in reply.

It doesn't matter, because Spock goes on to say, "You will excuse me. I require privacy at this time." He studies her face for a second before he glances away.

Jim nods wordlessly, though she isn't sure he sees it, and she walks away, leaving him to his thoughts. When she returns to her room, Leona and Riesa are sitting on the edge of her bed, while Jasel chooses to stand.

"So I don't have a shift today, which means I'm free to do anything you all would like," Jim announces.

Leona and Riesa perk up at that.

"My sisters mentioned a nursery they visited yesterday. Will you take us to it, Jester?" Jasel asks.

"Nursery?" Jim frowns. "Oh the botany lab," she says. "Yeah, we can do that."

Leona and Riesa clap joyously.

"_After _you wash up and I redo your hair," Jim adds.

Leona and Riesa moan woefully.

They're able to leave an hour and a half later with no injuries.

888

Jim doesn't often visit some of the science labs, and in hindsight, she never thought the botany labs would be a place she'd frequent either. But after actually spending some time there, getting to know the enthusiastic botanists that ran the lab and learning more than she ever has about horticulture, she feels a change of heart coming on.

Leona and Riesa absolutely love it, and they've even won a special place in the hearts of some of the personnel. They're quite impressed with the twins' ability to fully understand and interpret specific functions and species. Doctor Cruise, who is the head of all ethnobotany projects, takes an immense shining to them.

Dr. Cruise is a very tall man, like intimidatingly tall, with a goatee, salt and pepper hair, olive skin and sharp chestnut colored eyes. He definitely seemed older, maybe middle forties, but he was quite attractive nonetheless and had an alluring aura about him that even the plants seemed drawn too.

"Strange," a voice says behind her.

Jim frowns and turns to see Nurse Chapel holding a potted gardenia plant. "Nurse Chapel, what a pleasant surprise," she smiles, looking the lovely blonde over shamelessly.

Chapel blushes lightly and shakes her head. "Please, Captain—we're not in sickbay. You can call me Christine," she assures.

Jim beams. "Christine it is, and it's only fair that you call me, Jim," she replies.

"Jim," Chapel echoes with a smile.

Jim leers. "I have to say, I like the way you say it," she teases, eyebrows jumping suggestively.

Chapel swats at Jim's arm. "Oh you, stop it. I see why you give Leonard such grief," she comments jokingly.

Jim shrugs mildly. "He makes it too easy, I swear," she says. Then she turns her gaze back to the twins who have the undivided attention of Doctor Cruise. "What did you mean before, when you said strange?"

"Nothing really, it's just that Dr. Cruise is not usually so—cheerful. He's quite strict and short," Chapel clarifies. "Sometimes he'll say that being seventy-five can do that to a person."

"He's seventy-five!" Jim belts but then smiles sheepishly as she draws looks.

Jasel, who is on the other side of the lab in the hydroponics section with one of the lab assistants, shakes his head disapprovingly.

Jim winks at him, causing him to turn his back to her quickly. Then, to Chapel, she says, "Seventy-five? Really? I would have guessed like mid-forties at best."

Chapel grins knowingly. "As would anyone else. He's got a few tricks that he refuses to reveal, no matter how much certain people plead," she mutters. "He's civil but he's not overly friendly. Says he's got no time to deal with the unmediated stupidity of youth."

"Well I think Leona and Riesa have given him a severe change of heart," Jim points out.

"Seems so," Chapel agrees with a beautifully fond smile.

Jim thinks that if Bones doesn't stop taking his sweet time, she will totally swoop in and take the curvy nurse for herself. This thought inadvertently lead to more thoughts—bad, bad thoughts—about Chapel and a tight Nurse's uniform.

"Is this a free day for you?" Chapel asks after a while.

"Yeah. You?"

"I don't have a shift until later tonight," Chapel admits.

"Well the kids and I were just taking a field trip since I don't have anywhere I'm needed," Jim explains.

"They seem very happy, a good change from when they first arrived," Chapel notes.

Jim hums noncommittally. "They're easy to please. Take now for instance. You'd think I brought them to a candy lab—though I have to admit that would be awesome," she says, only partially serious.

Chapel chuckles and shakes her head. "I should tell Leonard you said that, I'm sure he'd like that."

Jim snorts and rolls her eyes in a 'I don't know what to do about him' kind of way. "Please don't. He's already on my case enough. If I didn't love him like a brother…" she trails off and shakes her head. "Anyway, what brings you here? Did you grow this?" She gestures to the potted plant.

"With a bit of blood, sweat and tears," Chapel says with palpable pride.

Jim reaches out and runs her fingers along one of the leaves. "Gorgeous," she murmurs. "And the gardenias aren't so bad either," she jokes with a wink.

Chapel grins. "As for why I'm here—well, I had the time and I figured I'd come by and see Dr. Cruise so he could diagnose my gardenia. They were blooming just fine a week ago but lately they've been wilting no matter what I do. Hopefully he'll let me leave it here for a few days."

"You know I can hardly tell there's anything wrong otherwise, and I have to be honest, if I was even the marrying type, I'd string this together for my bouquet," Jim says rather candidly.

Chapel's expression shifts to something thoughtful. "Yeah—yeah I would too," she agrees softly.

Jim finger combs her bangs and tugs at the end of her fishtail as Dr. Cruise spots Chapel. "I think he's going to—" she pauses abruptly when she notices Chapel staring at her. "Uh—is there something on my face?" She reaches up and pats around her cheeks self-consciously.

Chapel blinks and goes a bit pink. "Ah, no. Sorry. I was—that is—I just was thinking and I happened to be looking—"

"Miss Christine!" Dr. Cruise greets in a thick Italian accent and with a warm smile. "How lovely to have you here." He leans forward and kisses both her cheeks.

"Hello Dr. Cruise," Chapel greets in turn.

Dr. Cruise nods at Jim. "Captain, your little ones are positively quick," he says with a sharp gesture of his hand. "If I had more personnel like them, I would not have to be the bad guy most days."

Jim smiles. "I'm sure they'd love nothing more than to spend an entire day here," she says.

"Ah, but you mustn't tempt me like that," Dr. Cruise says and points a finger at her with a wink. "I might just make it so." Then turning to Chapel, he asks, "Your gardenias, how are they?"

"I was actually hoping you could tell me," Chapel lifts the potted plant.

Jim takes that as her cue to leave, and she slides over to Leona and Riesa, who are using tin pitchers to water some of the plants happily. They had dirt smudges smearing their bright pink jogging pants and white t-shirts. Not to mention bits of leaves in their fishtailed side ponytails. Part of the reason why they'd taken so long to get ready is because they demanded that they have their hair and clothes done the same way as Jim's.

"You know your getting baths right?" Jim asks as she reaches out and plucks the leaves from their hair simultaneously.

"We know," Leona replies.

Riesa adds, "But it was worth it, Lady Jim."

"Well that's good at least," Jim responds with an amused grin. "I'm going to go bother your brother for a bit."

Leona and Riesa nod dutifully and continue with their watering.

Jim strides to the other side of the room where Jasel is peering down into a microscope. Unable to resist, she exclaims, "What are you doing, Prince?"

Jasel jumps, startled, and whips a lethal glare in Jim's grinning direction. "Jester—must you behave so disdainfully?" he growls.

"Sometimes," Jim says in mock seriousness. "And anyway, I really am interested in what you're doing."

Jasel eyes her as if he searching for some falseness in her words or actions.

Jim just smiles innocently.

Jasel frowns but turns his gaze back to his microscope. "It was my intention to see observe the Genesis III plant in it's natural regenerative state. It's quite interesting. I cut only grain-sized piece from its leaf and it's already redeveloped into seed," he explains.

"And you didn't give it water or any kind of stimuli?" Jim asks as she leans forward and peers down into the lens of the microscope with one eye.

"I did not. Though I do believe that even the slightest exposure to light has given it enough of an incentive to regroup," Jasel replies.

Jim makes a thoughtful sound as she watches the seed slowly crack open and a red stem peeks out. "It's got to be no more than 85 micrometers long. That's only about 0.81 in micrograms—and it's already begun the germination process _without _a proper medium." She pulls back only to see the odd look Jasel is giving her. "What?"

Jasel frowns. "Why do you hide your intelligence?" he asks.

Jim reels at that. She's unused to being called out for that by anyone other than Bones. "What do you mean?"

"You know of what I speak," Jasel says firmly. "You willfully conceal your intellect. Why?"

Jim drums her fingers against the side of her leg. "It's—complicated, Prince."

"I've once heard that complexities can be greatly exaggerated for a person's utter lack of energy to willingly explain," Jasel counters.

Jim says nothing to that.

Jasel scrutinizes her for a moment longer before he turns his attention to the microscope again. "Fine. Keep your secrets. But do not expect me to so easily divulge mine," he mutters and disregards her completely.

"Prince," Jim tries but he stubbornly ignores her. She hangs suspended in hesitation for a moment beside him, glancing around, looking at nothing in particular. She mentally grumbles before she swallows her pride long enough to say, "When a person sees me," she hesitates. "They don't see my brain, and I'm not inclined to go flaunting it to make some ridiculous statement or prove myself. Because most of the time it's easier to play dumb than to be tempted to prove something to anybody. I'm not perfect of course, I slip now and then, but—I don't know. It's complicated because _I'm _complicated."

Jasel doesn't say anything for a little while, and Jim's fine with the silence. Then he does, "You are odd in many ways." He turns and meets her eyes. "But this I can accept as your nature," he says softly. "I'm not the same. I do what I can to show that I am worthy of my title."

"Yes well, I used to be the same at a point—never really satisfies much of anything," Jim says quietly.

"No, it does not," Jasel murmurs in agreement. He grins slightly. "Maybe your method has some merit after all."

Jim snorts. "Sometimes it does. The look people get on their faces—makes it worthwhile most days."

"I can imagine," Jasel replies. He steps aside and gesture to the microscope. "You may watch as I add a supplement."

"Sounds fun," Jim chuckles and leans forward.

As far as bonding moments go, it's not perfect. They still give each other a hard time in their own way, but something has definitely changed.

It makes Jim long to see her own siblings.

But it's easy, it seems, to allow time to just fly by when you're enamored in engaging botanical research. If Chapel hadn't invited them to join her for dinner, Jim would have foolishly forgotten about eating in general and camped out in the labs with the kids for the night.

Dr. Cruise shooed them all out, claiming that even scientists had need for replenishment.

This is how Jim ends up sitting on the open end of a booth, waiting silently as Chapel, with the insistent assistance of Leona and Riesa, and an always-independent Jasel, go to grab some food.

"Captain."

Jim looks up to see Yeoman Smith.

Smith fidgets and looks awfully anxious. "I need to talk to you," she says.

"Okay, sure," Jim says as she moves to stand but falters when Smith shakes her head sharply.

"No," Smith mutters, and then takes a moment to glance around the Mess nervously. "Not now. Later tonight. Midnight—back there in the kitchens." Then without waiting for a reply, she makes herself scarce.

Jim stares after her for a minute. "So that was weird," she mumbles to herself.

"What was weird?" Chapel questions curiously as she returns with their food.

Leona, Riesa and Jasel follow not to long after.

"Nothing," Jim lies, moving so that Chapel can slide into the booth. "Just had a thought."

Chapel nods as she settles down and they all start eating in silence.

Jim knows though—has this gut feeling—that it's not just nothing.

888

Dinner with Chapel and the kids was pleasant enough, and there were no incidents that interrupted the peace, so, thank God for small miracles.

They all walk back to Jim's personal quarters, and Jim ushers the kids in, giving them permission to make a desert of their choosing with her replicator.

"Just don't make a mess," Jim adds and then steps back into the corridor when she sees that Chapel has yet to enter. "Something wrong? You're not a vampire are you? Should I give you permission to enter?"

Chapel smiles guardedly but shakes her head. "I just wondered—well—can I talk to you?" Chapel asks.

Jim nods and turns back to the kids. "I'll be right out here guys," she says and sees each one of them nod in distracted acknowledgement, too busy with making brownies and chocolate chip cookies and ice cream. She wonders if she should say something, if she should caution them not to overdo it but in the end she decides to leave them be.

The door whooshes close and gives them some privacy as they stand out in the empty corridor.

Chapel's shoulders are set in a determined line.

"So—what did you want to talk about," Jim asks as she crosses her arm and devotes her attention to the beautiful nurse.

"I—I don't usually—" Chapel stammers over her words before she gives up altogether. She sighs in frustration and shakes her head, taking a step forward, yanks Jim close and kisses her.

Fucking _kisses _her.

Jim blinks rapidly, trying hard to understand something she obviously doesn't see in this moment. But then Chapel is cornering her against the door and doing this really complex tongue trick that Jim didn't even know was possible and oh wow, her toes are curling and, _wow,_ Chapel is a phenomenal kisser.

They're pressed together in this empty corridor, and making out in what Jim has to admit is ranking among the top five greatest make outs she's ever had, and _Jesus,_ she just has to restrain herself from climbing Chapel like a tree. And okay, it takes her about ten minutes before she hazily remembers why this is a bad idea, come on, she's _human_ and has a lethal libido that has been extensively inactive for the first time in years and Chapel is just a French kissing _gem_.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Jim pants, gently pushing Chapel away. "Let me just—let me just think for a second."

"I'd rather you didn't," Chapel retorts, grabbing Jim's hand and pressing it to her very perky, very firm right breast.

Jim line of thinking falters and it takes a second, it really does because Chapel's breasts are just perfect. "I—am not a guy. Yet this is working," she confesses.

Chapel grins coyly and that is just not helping.

"Look," Jim shakes her head to refocus and drops her hand because if she doesn't all she'll be able to think is: Chapel's boob, Chapel's boob, Chapel's _boob_. "I would really, and I mean really, _really _like to follow through on your blatant and effective invitation. But I can't—just for the simple fact that Dr. Whatshisname is my best friend and I can't do that to him. And, unless I'm wrong, you like whatshisname too."

Chapel frowns and pulls back. "I don't like Dr. McCoy," she says.

"Why is it Dr. McCoy now? A minute ago it was Leonard this and Leonard that," Jim says with obvious confusion. She is definitely missing something here.

Chapel sighs patiently. "Jim, I like Leonard well enough as a colleague and a friend. Nothing beyond that," she explains.

"But what about all those looks you kept giving us?" Jim question, still not understanding. "It's like you were trying to figure out if we were dating or doing something unsavory in general."

"I _was_," Chapel confesses. "But I was looking at you, not him. And if I was looking at him, I was just waiting for him to say something, you know, like introduce you to me as his girlfriend or fiancée—anything like that. Did you really not notice? I thought with all the flirting you were—you know, interested too."

Jim face-palms and reevaluates her life for just a minute. Bones always said that her excessive flirting was going to get her in a bind one day.

Jim, comeuppance. Comeuppance meet Jim.

"This is so messed up," Jim mutters. She sighs and straightens. "Alright, I can I admit that I am to blame for most of this, but still. This isn't going to work."

Chapel places her hand on the wall by Jim's head and gives her a sultry look that Jim hadn't even known she was capable of, and says, "You sure I can't change your mind?" Leaning in, she presses her lips to Jim's more gently this time, peppering them softly.

Jim groans at the utter unfairness of the situation but Chapel just takes that as an invitation to deepen the kiss and _whoa, _hello magical tongue. "Gah! No," she says, ducking under Chapel's arms and putting some thinkable space between them. "I'm sorry Christine, you are hot and I would like to do things to you but I can't because Bones likes you and I'm not just some skeezer that bangs the people my best friend is interested in. So I'm going to have to say no—regrettably."

Chapel looks equally annoyed and disappointed. "Okay. I can understand, I suppose." She straightens and moves to look more dignified. "What if I told him my intentions towards you?"

Jim gives Chapel a look.

"Fine, fine. I just figured it wouldn't hurt to try, but you said no and I will try and respect that. But if you ever happen to change your mind, or Leonard decides he approves and all that," Chapel twists her hand in a vague gesture. "You know where to find me. Goodnight, Jim."

"Night," Jim says faintly, watching the leggy nurse sashay away and out of sight. She's left to blink and try to process recent events the best way she can, but it's just too beyond her. "Well—that just happened. That actually just—wow." She shakes her head and opens the door to her personal quarters.

Leona is holding her stomach and barfing all over her coffee table.

"Seriously?" Jim moans.

Riesa cringes and slaps a hand over her mouth but it's too late. She's throwing up all over her own feet.

"Seriously!"

Jasel twitches and twists away to throw up all over Jim's work desk.

"Seriously?"

"Sorry," they all groan.

Jim face-palms again. She really should have said something about not overdoing it when the thought had crossed her mind.

Comeuppance, you remember Jim? Jim, Comeuppance.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**YEOMAN KELLY G. SMITH VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Captain,_

_Where are you?_

_Smith_

888

Jim mutters to herself as she peels off the yellow rubber gloves from her hands.

It had taken a good two hours to clean up all the puke and then another hour to get the kids clean and dressed for bed. At least they went right to sleep as soon as their heads hit the pillow, so that was an upside.

The downside though, is that Jim is pretty sure she's late to meet Yeomen Smith. She's rushing quickly, yet quietly, to dispose of the dirty rubber gloves and the kids' soiled clothing. Then she's flying through the corridors like a bat out of hell, hoping that Smith didn't decide to just give her the proverbial middle finger and bail.

Jim's not really encouraged when she sees how dark and empty the Mess is.

_Then again, she did say to meet her in the kitchens,_ Jim thinks and treks to the back, sliding past the grill bar through the swinging door that leads to the kitchen.

"Smith?" Jim calls, glancing around. "Hello, hello."

The kitchen is clean, silver cutting board tables sit directly in the middle. There's a rack of pots and pans, suspended over said table. The walls are lined with stoves and deep sinks.

Jim pushes her pointer finger against one of the suspended pans, cause it to swing and knock into the others as she walks by. She's rounding the cutting board table when she slips and falls to her hands and knees in a violent smear of blood that leads to the mangled body of Yeoman Smith.

Jim feels her heart thud quickly and almost painfully as she crawls over and reaches out with shaky fingers. "Smith?" she whispers.

Smith eyes are wide open, staring right back at her as blood seeps out of the corner of her mouth and unto the floor. She's lying face down—or—the upper half of her body is face down while the lower half is lying face up. Her middle looks as if it's been tied into a sickening knot.

"Oh God," Jim sobs, turning her head away, and pressing the back of her hand to her mouth as her stomach lurches painfully. "Oh _God_," she hisses, squeezing her eyes tightly.

Smith is dead.

Smith was_ murdered_.

Jim bites back a horrified sob and reels back, quickly scrambling to find her communicator. She hurriedly flips it open, but she's got so much blood on her hands that it slips and clatters to the ground. "Fuck!" she hisses and claws it from the floor. She flips it open again and keeps a steady grip, even though her hands are shaking. "Spock."

Silence.

"Spock!"

Silence.

"Spock! God-_fucking_-damn it! Pick up _now!_"

Silence.

Then, "_Captain? What is the matter?_"

Jim exhales and closes her eyes in relief. "I need you."

It takes a moment but Spock replies, "_I will come to where you are._"

"The kitchens—Mess Hall." Jim eyes turn to the Smith's mangled body again. "Hurry…"

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_Thanks for reading._


	8. Chapter 9

**Chapter 7**

Jim stands across from Smith, fingers knuckling the notches as she stares down at the mangled body on the floor. Smith lays there, practically fermenting in her own blood, blue eyes hollow and pupils blown wide with lifelessness. Smith's hands are trapped under her own body and her blonde hair is knotted and soaked with more blood.

Tossed.

Jim can't get the word out of her head as her mouth sags unhappily. Smith looks like she's been tossed around like a ragdoll. But, even so, the rest of the kitchen looks undisturbed. Nothing is askew. Nothing is out of place (save for Smith's wrangled body) and nothing seems awry. Which begs the question of how?

How do you do that to a body?

Certainly not with your bare hands, Jim is sure of that. But that's the thing too—she's not sure either. She's got nothing for the how or the why. So she just stares at Smith's wrung, blood drenched body as the notches of the stove digs into her lower back and stay white-knuckled under her calloused fingers.

Who's to say how long this goes on for when Spock arrives with a security and medical team, because he is just proficient like that?

The med team scrambles to Smith with bewildered and horrified expressions, taking out their equipment and whipping out their tricorders like they were forensics. And in this case, Jim figures they will have to be.

The security team aka Cupcake and his lackeys, hang back with their arms crossed and surly concentrated expressions on their faces. Jim vaguely wonders if it's some kind of requirement to look that way.

She doesn't say a thing when Spock approaches her. She's still in shock and steadily beating down the panic attack that's trying to fight its way up out of her. His immediate presence makes things a tad easier—soothes the emotional beast inside of her and quiets her distress for the moment. And God, she will _not _examine why that is. She's done well with not thinking about the bond, and now is not the time to break that streak.

"Captain," Spock says carefully, dark eyes assessing her with thoughtful calculation. Studying her like some unknown, risky equation. Watching her like he's weighing all the present factors that make up the person she is. "Are you unharmed?" and when he asks, his voice sounds just a tad off.

"More or less," Jim says in a deadpan voice that's sure to match the blank expression she's sporting. She's tucking her emotions deep down in the very center of herself. No one needs to see how much this is bothering her—affecting her. "What's the time?"

"Twenty four-forty five," Spock replies, eyebrows furrowed. His gaze is narrowed on her and his shoulders are tight with questioning. He seems to be holding it back out of courtesy. And that is definite disapproval in his dark eyes—for what or why, she isn't sure—but it's there.

Jim ignores it in favor of straightening and thinking very carefully. "I need to write a statement about this," she says. "I—there's so much I have to do. That _needs_ to be done. And I need you—" she hesitates, stumbling short with her words. Her fingers tighten into a fist, and she's taut with embarrassment by her own floundering. She's also far too embarrassed to blush (so thank God for small miracles).

Spock doesn't say anything of it though. He just stands at attention right across from her, like some sort of blank wall.

That bothers Jim and comforts her at the same time. It's frustrating above anything else and she's trying to get a hold of herself—_needs _to get ahold of herself. "I need you to be here with me—one hundred percent because things have escalated from bad to worse. We've have _got _to start some damage control." She swallows and exhales. "Hold on a moment," and she bypasses Spock to approach Cupcake.

Cupcake lifts a brow but his lackeys snap to attention.

"Lieutenant Giotto," Jim starts. "The cooks that had the closing shifts tonight—go into the duty rosters, track them down and question them very, _very _thoroughly. Look into what their alibis are for when they left this kitchen."

Cupcake nods with a serious frown.

"Also for any other crew that may have lingered well past twenty-two hundred tonight. Anyone who was cleaning, anyone who was restocking supplies, anyone who might have been in immediate vicinity of this kitchen—question them. Also the last possible people to see Yeomen Smith alive, understand?"

"Perfectly," Cupcake grunts and levels her with a look that says, yes, he does.

Jim nods. "Thank you. I want full reports by tomorrow night. Do you think that you can do that for me?" She distantly hopes she isn't asking too much, but she needs this to come together in some form or fashion if she wants to put an end to it.

Cupcake gives a sharp nod and juts his chin confidently.

"Good," Jim says. "I'll leave you to it. Gentlemen," she says acknowledging his lackeys with a brief glance. She turns and makes a gesture to Spock.

Together, they exit the kitchens.

Jim rotates her shoulders, feeling uncomfortable sticky and tense.

Spock walks silently beside her, letting her lead the way without objection.

Jim isn't quite sure where she's going; her mind is still reeling. She just knows that she has to get this blood off of her right away.

She doesn't look at Spock as she says, "I don't want to wake the kids, and I sure as hell don't want them seeing me like this. Could we—if you didn't mind—could I go through your quarters?"

"I do not oppose," Spock replies and his voice still sounds a bit off.

Still, Jim feels her shoulders slump at that. She supposes she had been expecting a refusal. It's a little baffling that he hasn't but she'll take what she can get. "Thanks," she whispers, because she has to, because she hasn't ever been anything but courteous or polite when it counts—when it matters.

Spock says nothing of course but she is sure he heard. His pale hands sway a fraction at his sides, and it's clear he's in deep contemplation, if the way his dark eyes restlessly examines the corridor.

Jim welcomes the silence as they venture back to his quarters. As soon as his door slides open, she makes a beeline for the bathroom and claws her soiled clothes off, hurling herself into the sonic shower.

The steam is thick and the water is hot; it is almost stifling and she is vaguely concerned she will faint. But that is far in the back of her mind as she presses her forehead against the glass door of the shower and exhales shakily. Her eyes are lowered to her orange-painted toes as water and blood coil down her legs to the porcelain floor and finally down the drain.

Jim closes her eyes and breathes in the heat, lets it surround her and distract her. Lets the streaming jets of the showerhead beat against her skin like tiny beads. Lets the water strike her skin until her tan skin flushes red. Lets her head lift and lets herself walk backwards until the spray of the water engulfs her head. She tugs her ponytail loose and focuses on the way her blonde hair sags until it's reaching halfway down her back. She holds her breath the moment that the water waterfalls over her face like a scorching veil. When her head pulls forward, her pruning fingers are gripping at her wet shoulders as the air held in her lungs shudders out of her.

Jim licks at her lips as she blinks the water from her blue eyes, blinks past the way her long blonde eyelashes stick and clump together wetly. Blinks past those dark memories that are threatening to resurface in the wake of recent events. Blinks past the panic attack that still lingers and prowls around her mind like a hungry animal, waiting—just waiting for the right moment to spring.

She exhales a frustrated sound and flinches when something probes at the back of her mind, gently weaseling in until Jim can feel her body slacken with a consoled slouch. The weight of her anxiety feels as though it's been uprooted and suctioned out at the source. She can't help but to twitch and shiver. When she tries to push back at it, feel for it, the probing always pulls back out of her reach before diving in again and continuing its work. She can feel something being rearranged in her mind, unhinged. It makes her feel uncomfortably vulnerable. Sends shockwaves of shivers down her spine and throughout every nerve of her body.

The touch is just so—familiarly _intimate._

Jim shudders a final time as the probing lingers a moment longer before gently withdrawing and disappearing altogether. While the intrusion had been intimate, there was still a tad touch of distance to it as well. The touch in her mind felt as if it had wanted to be close without _getting _close. A kind of withdrawn and detached impression she can't exactly pinpoint. She frowns and makes a mental note to talk to Sarek about his prying. Though she appreciates what he's trying to do, she'd rather he didn't keep interfering with all her subconscious/emotional toil. She's a big girl, she's a captain and she knows it comes with the territory. She can handle it—has to. Yes, it can be overwhelming at times, but she doesn't let it overrule her. She can't let it—refuses even.

Jim has a constant need to be in control when it comes to the functioning of her body—of her ship. In some ways the Enterprise feels like an extension of her body. Something this damaging happening to her ship—on her ship, feels like a personal violation. And she cannot—will not let acts of violence that severe stand. This is her ship—her goddamn ship and she needs to get ahold of things fast and figure out a way to get around all the inconveniences that box her in now. Box her in and limits her captaining functions—abilities.

Jim sighs.

Well at least she'll be able to focus now on the problem at hand without the hassle of emotions, so that is an upside. With that thought, she exhales with an air of finality and sets her shoulders in a firm line. She washes herself a full seven times before she steps out and wraps a towel around herself. She uses her thumbs to wipe the water from the corner of her eyes and tongues thoughtfully at the roof of her mouth. She hesitates as she turns to the door that leads to her room. After a minute or two, she opens the door to see the Leona and Riesa sprawled between her sheets, and upon further inspection, notes that Jasel is the same, only he hasn't moved in his sleep.

They are all blissfully unaware to the happenings of the world around them.

Jim feels the corners of her mouth quirk slightly, finding some comfort in the thought. She tiptoes over to her dresser and pulls a pair of deep purple jogging pants and a white tank before slipping back into the bathroom again. She slides her clothes on and towel dries her hair until it's annoyingly wavy. Feeling slightly chilled, she returns to her room to grab a thin pullover and slips it on before she braids her hair up into a bun.

Jim tosses her wet towel on the sink when she goes through the bathroom to Spock's door. She doesn't wait for his permission, figuring he's already given it, and she slips through when the door whooshes open.

Spock is sitting on the floor atop, what looks to be, some kind of yoga mat with his eyes closed, legs crossed pretzel style and hands resting, palms down, over his knees. His chest is rising and falling very slowly in a very controlled sort of manner.

Jim feels herself stop short to just watch him, slightly riveted by the sight. There's something so fascinatingly relaxed and open about his posture—in a way she's never even seen, never even known was possible.

Spock looks almost as if he's sleeping. His face is slack with tranquility but his eyebrows are furrowed in concentration. He isn't moving, not even a simple twitch, save for the motion of his chest expanding and shrinking very leisurely.

Meditating. The word comes out of thin air to Jim's thoughts but she recognizes the situation for what it is.

Spock is meditating.

Hence the reason for the low lighting and burning incense, which is almost overwhelming, and Jim has a hard time not noticing the smell now. It's not a bad smell though. It's a smell she could get used to—_annnd_ that's not relevant because she wont.

Jim squirms and fidgets, unsure if she should be standing here, watching him like a creep or if she should retreat to her bathroom and camp out over her sink again until he's done. They still had things to discuss.

"Captain—if you have a seat and cease your fidgeting, you will find me most appreciative," Spock says without opening his eyes or moving in any other way than with his mouth. His voice has also strikingly lowered in baritones.

Jim fidgets, just because she can't help it and also because she didn't know he was capable of managing anything other than leveled monotone speech. This really isn't turning out to be any less awkward and Jim still feel out of place. "Uh—sorry. I didn't know if I should just—I mean I can leave if I'm disturbing you. I feel like I'm disturbing you."

Spock's eyebrows furrow further but his lids do not rise. "Your restlessness is the only cause for disturbance at the moment. Please have a seat. I require a few more minutes of meditation."

"Right," Jim says. "Right." Because apparently once wasn't enough. She carefully moves to the edge of his bed and sits down in a painfully slow way. It's almost as if she's afraid that she'll break his bed or something, and God, she will just go ahead and stop thinking about his bed in _general_.

Uncomfortable thoughts.

Uncomfortable situation overall.

His bedding is dark, edging on colors of black and brown (just like the clothes he must wear). She faintly notes the lack of pillows too. It's odd to Jim because she has to have a horde of pillows on her bed just to even get comfortable. She has this tendency of smothering herself in the plush and fluff of her bedding. Maybe its some Freudian slip having to do with needing to feel security or some other subconscious thing like that. Jim mentally shrugs—she likes what she likes.

What does Spock like?

The Vulcan is a hard to figure out most times and Jim gets podium when it comes to reading people. As she examines his room and takes in the neat placement of furniture, dark overtures and lack of sentimentalities, she notices his living space is founded more on structure and less on nostalgia.

That's not too strange, Jim supposes. She kind of likes it—likes the heat of his room and the sharp smell—likes the low lighting that sort of fazes her mind into deep musing. It's so opposite from how she settles. Her room is sort of bright and glaring, clean and open. That's how she likes it though. She likes feeling like her room could burst open at any moment to the sunlight and to wind and all things symbolizing freedom. She has nothing but cool colors painting her furniture and her clothes—watermelon pinks, plum purples and kiwi greens, some times with cloudy whites, sky blues and apple reds. She loves fruit colors mostly—always has. And as for nostalgia and sentimentalities, a person wouldn't have to look far to see the pictures and holograms of her brother and sisters, as well as their little macaroni art and finger paintings. She's got just a few pictures of her and Bones from random moments they both deemed acceptable to keep as memorabilia for the long haul of life.

They're different—opposite, she realizes. Must be what day feels like to night.

Spock unfolds himself from the floor. He keeps at the edge of his bed, pale hands limp at his sides, fingers slightly curled towards his palms. "There is something you wish to discuss," he says, matter-of-factly.

"Yes," Jim says and knuckles the edges of his bed, cocking her head in his direction. She calculates the distance between them (four to five steps apart) and wonders again, why he does that deliberately. She shifts her focus before she can get irritated. "Finding her wasn't by accident. Yeomen Smith asked to talk to me earlier today."

"I am aware," Spock replies. "She inquired over your whereabouts, ten minutes after midnight."

"Ten minutes," Jim repeats, just because she has to. "Hold that thought." Then she stands and quickly scuttles over to her quarters to snatch her PADD from her desk without disturbing the kids' sleep. When she returns, Spock is still standing at the corner of his bed where she left him. "Twenty-five notifications," she turns it to show him. "Five—a quarter to midnight. And those are just her reminding me where I was supposed to be and twenty directly after the clock struck." Jim keeps her PADD steady for his viewing with a thoughtful frown. "She _really _had something important to tell me."

"Her persistence would suggest such," Spock agrees and there's something withdrawn in his stoic expression. "Had she specified the reasoning for her wanting to speak with you in private?"

Jim shakes her head and says, "Not at all. She just slapped me with a time and place. Nothing more. Though I did have a feeling it was something—I don't know—vital or something just from the way she acted. Frantic—or no, that's not the right word. She was—I guess I'd say anxious or nervous."

"She understood the risk in speaking to you about the matter," Spock deducts. His expression is still carefully masked but his dark eyes are studying the notifications on her PADD screen with severe intent. "Why did she not speak with you right then?"

Jim shrugs as she tucks her PADD under one arm and can't shake the feeling that something is not all the way right with him. "I can't say why," she replies honestly. "It's—" she stops short, shaking her head with another thoughtful frown. "I don't know. I think she was being watched and you know, I think she knew she was being watched." She worries her bottom lip as she lifts her PADD and scrolls through her notifications. "I mean you don't just send twenty-five notifications unless it's dire. And we could have met anywhere on the ship and she chose the kitchens. So many '_why's_' and not enough answers to taper them down."

"Where were you when she first approached you?" Spock questions, and waits for her response, dark eyes fixed with scrutiny.

Jim can feel that twinge again—knows for certain something is off about his behavior. "Um—I was in the Mess with Chapel and the kids. They'd gone to get some food and I hung back. Smith rounded on me and said that she wanted to talk to me. And I stood but she said no and said we'd have to talk in private. She told me when and where and then she was gone," she explains.

"Why did you not insist?" Spock presses, tucking his hands behind him with expectant line in his shoulders, as if she were supposed to take responsibility for some transgression.

Jim frowns and leans back slightly assessing him carefully. "Well as I said before, she looked nervous and anxious. There were too many people around so whatever she had to say she didn't want it to be heard by the wrong ears and plus she darted off before I could."

"Yet it was vital that she speak with you face to face. Why did she not think to message you?" Spock asks, and it almost sounds rhetorical, as if he's not really looking for her to respond. As if he's pointing out what she does not understand about what she did wrong.

Jim exhales patiently and shifts her weight as she crosses her arms. "Why are you interrogating me about this?"

"I am merely inquiring as to why you did not think to question Yeomen Smith of her intentions for a private discussion more thoroughly," Spock returns in a slightly accusatory way.

And then it hits Jim—plain as day and painstakingly obvious. "You're upset with me," she states.

Spock's eyebrows furrow and his lips tighten but there is nothing else telling in his expression. "I—am not upset. Though, I do find myself disquieted by your ability to willingly put yourself at risk," he confesses.

"What risk is there in speaking with a colleague?" Jim retorts.

"There are many factors that would support why it would be irrational to arrange an after hour discussion. As captain, it behooves you to deliberate appropriate instances in which to congregate with specific individuals."

Jim feels agitation trying to fester up. "Look, I don't know what kind of Captain you envision but I am not giving each member of my crew the goddamn third degree just to speak—"

Spock calmly interjects, "I think it would be wise to allow me to accompany you if such a case arises again. I can then determine the nature of the individuals behavior and precise reasoning—"

Jim laughs humorlessly, cutting him short this time. "Oh no. We are _not _having this conversation. Away missions—fine—follow all you like and _determine _and _deliberate _all you like. But anything else is not up for negotiation."

"Captain, we are not clear as to who the perpetrator responsible for this heinous act, and until such your well-being is at risk—"

"_Everyone's _well-being is at risk! Not just mine. Priority number one."

"Be that as it may, you are the commanding officer of this vessel, and your wellbeing is placed above others in precise situations."

"Don't pander to me about what my worth is compared to my crew because I can tell you now, I am a lost cause. _Priority. Number. One._"

"You can not act recklessly. As First Officer, it is my duty to ensure no har—"

"Despite what your duty demands of you, _Spock_, I do not need a babysitter—"

"I made no such suggestion, Captain."

"—I don't expect you to be my shadow, following me and lingering just to be sure I'm not in danger. I don't _need _a bodyguard—"

"Again, I must point out that I made no such suggestion, Captain."

"—and yes I get that things are beginning to get hairy and it was a bit sketchy of me to meet Yeomen Smith in the middle of the night, especially with the whole thing with Mitchell, and the fact that the woman has hated me since day one and who really knows what would have happened if I had shown up on time? But you need to realize that I can hold my own and trust me, I've been in worse situations to—"

"I prefer not having to depend on past encounters you have succeeded in marginally evading with minor harm as a way to parallel the current situation as basis that you will not endanger yourself out of carelessness. Despite what circumstances may show, you cannot always presume that the integrity of all our personnel is innocuous. It may have been a ruse orchestrated by Yeomen Smith and Lieutenant Mitchell. Yet you did not think to consider it. You are the acting captain and as such, I must remind you that it is your responsibility to remain out of harm's way—"

"I know what my responsibility is, don't lecture me. I understand—never mind the fact that you obviously don't think I do. But that's just it. I am acting captain and as acting captain, danger—seen and unseen—comes with the territory. It's like flipping a coin, Commander. There's a fifty chance for everything. And just where is all this coming from? It's like—God, I _know _you're upset with me."

Spock frowns before he quickly straightens out his expression. "I am not upset," he protests carefully. And as his dark eyes meet hers, he continues, "In these instances, I am reminded of your humanity. I can only feel responsible for your welfare. Even more so when you refuse to."

Vulcan Translation: _You can die or get hurt at any moment and it bothers me. I would not be doing my job if I allowed of that. Just because you don't mind, doesn't mean I won't either._

Jim lowers her guard long enough to consider his words. She sighs and rubs her forehead faintly, deciding not to be so defensive. "We're going to have to debate this some other time. For now—can we please ignore our habit of going back and forth about virtually everything and just focus on the subject at hand?" she asks, albeit a bit wearily.

Spock says nothing at first. He has that look about him again. Like he wants to argue, but merely resigns to the fact that it would not be wise. He inclines his head wordlessly instead.

Jim sighs tiredly and pinches the bridge of her nose. "A member of our crew was killed tonight," she pauses to drop her hand and straighten. "And whether or not it was provoked, we need to get to the bottom of it and work at stopping it from happening again," she says.

Spock reflects on her words as his dark eyes weigh something silently. "What do you suggest?"

"We need to go to her quarters. There's has to be something telling there. Whatever she meant to say or tell me could be lying around her room somewhere," Jim says.

"That is more than likely," Spock agrees.

Jim makes a vague sound. "Glad you agree," she mutters and hands him her PADD. "Hold this for me, I have to grab some more gear," and as she looks down at her feet, she continues, "And some shoes."

Spock takes her PADD wordlessly.

Jim scuttles back to her room, and grabs a couple connecter cords from the bottom drawer of her work desk and some shoes as quietly as she can. She then takes the mini-screwdriver and sticks it into the side of her bun. She also snags the wristwatch Bones had bought her during their first Christmas together and straps it to her wrist. She quietly mutters to herself as she eyes the kids, setting a timer for when she thinks they might wake so she can be back before then.

She returns and nods to Spock, and trades her cords for her PADD.

Spock lifts an eyebrow but he doesn't question it.

Jim shoots of a quick notification to Bones as they exit his quarters.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CMO LEONARD H. MCCOY OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Bones,_

_Get your ass out of bed and down to medical. We've got a situation and I need you to be the lead. Tell me what you find._

_I need to know how Yeomen Smith died. Scan her for any traces of electrochemistry. I got this hunch._

_Jim_

888

Jim uses her override code when they reach Yeomen Smith's quarters. The problem is, it looked as if they hadn't been the only ones to drop by.

Everything is upside down and inside out in her room.

Clothes scattered, drawers pulled and dumped, and even the little bit of furniture she had was tossed on its side.

Jim surveys the mess with an agitated frown. "Damn it," she whispers with frustrated exhale. "Someone has definitely been here."

"Indeed," Spock murmurs in agreement. "By the appearance of things, there was something being sought after."

Jim takes the cords from Spock and just drops the bulk of the connector cords on the floor, yanking just one loose and connecting it to the end of her PADD before putting it under her arm. She turns and pulls the mini-screwdriver from her hair and starts unscrewing the comm unit on the wall loose so she can get to the wiring behind it.

Spock steps up beside her (the distance has shorten down to three steps apart) and watches her curiously. "You are attempting to infiltrate the network," he deducts.

Jim grins as she rewires a few things and plugs the other end of the connector cord to the main one in the wall. "Hotwire," she corrects. "I'm hotwiring. Infiltrate is such a shady word—I prefer to do without it."

"And you are searching for something," Spock comments.

Jim slides her finger over her PADD and begins launching specific programs geared towards breaking down certain firewalls and implanting codes. "Well the way our databanks are designed, it records practically everything that goes on, even specific times we come and go from our quarters—and also things like if we give verbal confirmation to let someone in, etcetera, etcetera." She frowns thoughtfully as she cuts down into the system, worming her way to a vulnerable pocket.

"Would it not be better to directly ask for it?" Spock questions, shifting his stance so that he can observe her PADD more clearly.

Two steps apart, now.

Jim huffs. "Of course it would be—you can go ahead and try it, but it'd do no good. In fact—I'll do it for you. Watch this." She points her gaze upward and says, "Computer, access account name Yeomen Kelly G. Smith, override code 95427."

"_Confirming—accessed._"

"I need the voice recordings for the wall comm unit."

"_Searching—recordings not found._"

"Hm, well what do you know? I guess she never came in or out of her room," Jim drawls sarcastically.

"Someone has removed them," Spock notes.

Jim nods. "Of course they have. You don't leave your fingerprints on a murder weapon," she says. "Which is why I'm going directly to the source, because as we both know, something erased or removed from any databank is not really gone. It's just a little harder to find." She begins her sliding her fingers expertly over her PADD once more with a thoughtful frown. When she's done, she sits it on the floor. "My little bugs are going to need a minute to weed it all out. I've sent them hunting for anything that Smith's virtual thumbprint has touched." She backs up and eyes it for a moment, then looks at her wristwatch. It would take at least and hour and a half for her little minions to finish. In the meantime—"Hey, Spock. How do you feel about a little manual labor?" she asks and cocks her head towards him.

Spock lifts an eyebrow. "Indifferent," he replies.

Jim snorts and turns, walking to Smith's upturned work desk. "Good—you can rifle through her laundry then. I call work area."

Spock says nothing but he moves forward to all the smashed dressers.

They work in silence as they rifle through all the scattered remains and debris of Smith's living space. They keep tabs on each other, just to see where they're at (so far nowhere). There really isn't much to find.

An hour into it and Jim certainly doesn't discover anything of value. Between the mountains of paperwork and duty rosters, there is just nothing of importance.

She stands, stretching with a frustrated sigh and accidently steps on a picture frame. Jim winces when she hears the telltale sound of glass crunching, even as she retracts her foot. She hunches down and carefully turns the frame over.

The picture is of Smith, and what looks to be her husband. It's an amber-colored photo of Kelly in a wedding dress next to slim, dark-haired male in a tuxedo. They're both smiling like they know a happiness that no one else does. They also look really young—no older than eighteen.

Jim smiles sadly and can't help the pang of remorse she feels. She flips the picture over to search for any description Smith might have written and stiffens when she does find something.

_Harcourt & Kelly Mudd_

_St. Mary's Chapel_

_ -November 23rd 2209_

"Holy shit," Jim breathes. She presses her fingers to mouth and just _stares_. She lowers the picture and just blinks at nothing for a little while. Then, spurred to action by a thought, she drops to her knees—mindful of the broken glass—and searches for more pictures.

When she finds another picture frame, she impatiently breaks it over the leg of the desk and claws the picture out. In this black and white photo, they're kneeling in the sand of some beach around an impressive sandcastle. Harcourt's beaming face has stripes of suntan lotion marked across his reddened cheeks like whiskers. Smith's grinning slightly, but her eyes are kind of dimmed, like she's exhausted. She looks as young as she did in the last photo but Mudd looks older, a little less slim.

_Kelly & Harcourt _

_Myrtle Beach_

_ -June 8th 2219_

Ten years have passed since the last photo.

Jim grabs another picture frame and breaks it open, ignoring Spock, who has walked over to see the source for all the commotion by this time. She claws the third picture out. It's a colored photo of Mudd and Smith standing in front of the Eiffel Tower in Paris. Mudd has his arm slugged over Smith's shoulder. He's grinning, but Smith looks like she forcing the smile. Mudd definitely has aged, more rounded in the middle and he's grown some facial hair over his upper lip. Smith—oddly enough, just looks the very same, maybe a bit more worn down but unchanged otherwise.

_Kelly & Harcourt_

_Paris, France_

_ -November 23rd 2231_

Jim breaks open another.

_Kelly & Harcourt_

_Israel_

_ -May 13th 2241_

And another.

_Kelly & Harcourt_

_Tokyo, Japan_

_ -November 23rd 2250_

That's the last one Jim finds. Mudd is severely aged but Smith—she looks as young as she did in the first photo. Through the progression of photos, Smith isn't even smiling anymore. She doesn't even try. She looks unhappy and completely detached, while Mudd looks delusional, happy and content.

"Captain."

Jim blinks and glances up at Spock who is staring directly at her hands.

"You are bleeding."

Jim looks down, and yes, she is. There are all manner of cuts across her fingers and on the inside of her palms followed by thin trails of blood. She can vaguely feel the sting of it, but the pain isn't so great that she would have noticed right away. They're all very shallow cuts. And the skin of her hands is too thick and calloused that it stops the glass shards from going any deeper.

Jim cradles the photos in her right hand while she flexes the bleeding fingers of her left. She blows on her fingers and shakes off the sting some, standing to her feet. "Come here," she says and gestures him closer.

Spock hesitates, as he often does when she makes that request, but it's only a minute pause. He walks over, carefully stepping around the shattered and scattered chaos of paper, glass and wood on the floor. When he reaches her, with the proper distance, five or four steps between them, he looks expectant, once or twice, cutting his eyes to her injured hands.

Jim holds up the photos as an observational offering. "Look at these. They're of Smith and Mudd—well I'm making a wild assumption that it's Mudd but the first name matches and the last name matches—which is actually the least of our problems if you look at the bigger picture, both figuratively and literally."

Spock takes the photo, not even seeming to mind that there are a few bloodied fingerprints on the edge of most of them. His eyebrows are furrowed in thought and his dark eyes hold each detail of the photos with a considerable amount of contemplation. "They are dated twelve and ten years apart," he notes.

Jim nods, hiding her wounded hands behind her back. Spock won't stop glancing at them. She says, "Yeah, I noticed that too. If you look at the dates from the wedding photo and the photos that have coinciding dates, you can notice that those are the ones usually that are ten years from the last photo. Plus any other random date has been taken twelve years later—but understand that, that's still the small detail here."

"You're insinuating the fact that the age progression varies greatly for both Mudd and Yeomen Smith," Spock comments knowingly, already understanding what she's hinting at.

"Yes," Jim says without punctuation. "Never mind the fact that they are _married_. He ages but she doesn't, which is all kinds of strange. And again it just begs the question of '_why_'. Why this ship? Why now? What are they looking for? What are they trying—_were_. What _were_ they trying to do?" She pauses to frown. "I mean this all has to be related somehow. We're more closer to getting avalanched by questions instead finding a fraction of the truth."

Spock says nothing for a moment, and then, "There is a similarity between all events."

Jim frowns. "I don't understand what you're saying," she admits.

"Paranormal occurrences," Spock explains. "Aside from the circumstances pertaining to the Romulans—which I strongly believe to have no direct or underlying correlation to any of the other circumstances. Of each encounter, these events, or phenomena such as telekinesis or clairvoyance, have all settled beyond the scope of normal scientific understanding."

Jim finger-combs her bangs from her eyes as she exhales in thought. "Well," she starts. "I agree with you on that." She tongues the roof of her mouth for a moment before she says, "But what degree of paranormal are we dealing with exactly?"

"For that, I have no answer," Spock replies.

Jim isn't going to hold that against him because she doesn't either. "Maybe you were right," she grudgingly admits. "About Smith and—her intentions with meeting with me so late. These photos certainly insinuates her in the grand scheme of things."

"And there was a vital connection between her and Mudd," Spock points out.

Jim snorts. "Uh—they were married so—I should think so." She glances around with assessing gaze, trying to single out any oddity that she can spy. "But there's something missing here. It doesn't feel right," Jim mutters. Her eyes continue to roam over the chaos. "It's like going backwards. Taking everything out to look for one thing. I don't know," she mumbles thoughtfully as she presses her fingers to her lips.

Spock expression shifts.

Jim eyes flick up to his and she raises both eyebrows questioningly.

Spock steadies his gaze down, and he seems to be struggling internally. A vast array of thoughts seems to shift in his dark eyes before he shoulders this sort of resigned expression.

Two steps forward and he's three steps away from her, looking openly displeased.

Jim frowns at him, wondering over what's not being said. Her lips fall slack and she's ready to ask but he's already reaching out, carefully wrapping pale fingers over the watch around her wrist and lowering her bloodied hand away from her mouth, carefully not making any contact with her skin.

"Your wounds risk infection if not treated," Spock states cautiously. When he's sure he's placed the proper distance between her hand and her mouth, he releases her wrist and tucks his hand behind him again, expression neutral as ever.

Jim licks her bottom lip and cringes at the bitter taste of her own blood painted across the protruding curve of her mouth. She had forgotten that she had even injured herself. She holds out both hands in front of her and evaluates the damage, mouth cocked to the side thoughtfully. "Well—it's a lot less painful than it looks."

Spock says nothing but he still looks dissatisfied.

Jim gazes at him considerably, and then says, "If I go on ignoring it, will you lecture me again?"

"I do not enjoy lecturing you," Spock counters.

Jim grins triumphantly. "Aha! So you admit that you _do _lecture me though."

"Captain, please tend to your hands," Spock replies instead.

And because Jim is secretly a troll, and a rebel at heart, she changes the subject. "In the first photo, Smith and Mudd look to be eighteen, and if you think of how many years could have passed—with the correct application of math—currently, that would make them about late fifties, early sixties. Smith didn't look it but Mudd certainly did," she points out. "And if we wanted to be completely sure, we'd have to show the picture to kids and see if they can identify him."

Spock looks geared up and ready to address her injured hands again.

Jim just sports this expectant look, fully aware of what he means to do.

This makes Spock stop short and scrutinize her.

Jim just waits, because she is patient like that.

Spock eyes darken with contemplation and his lips tighten a fraction but his overall expression stays rigidly detached.

"Was there something you wanted to say?" Jim asks evenly enough, blue eyes challenging and waiting.

"You are goading me," Spock reasons. "Why?"

Jim shrugs mildly and frowns innocently. "I can not ascertain the meaning behind your query," and she purposefully turns her back to him, unable to keep her straight face. "Smith's PADD wasn't with her," she says suddenly. "I didn't think about," she mutters as her eyes lower to the ground. There's a torn piece of paper buried under a pile of glass shards. Jim stoops low and bats the glass away (most likely causing more cuts) and picks it up.

Two words are pressed together to look like one.

**_the:rite_**

Jim frowns and straightens, cocking her head as she surveys it. It may be nothing but then again, it may be everything.

"Captain—" and Spock is probably going to bring up her hands again.

_Ping. Ping. Ping._

They both glance at her PADD, which is illuminated with the finished product of little minions' scavenging.

"Make you deal, Commander," Jim says as she glances over her shoulder at him. "You look and see what's popped up and I'll see to my hands. Thanks." She gives him no time to reply as she sweeps past him and into Smith's bathroom, hoping beyond hope that she would find a regenerator.

Jim's got a little luck after all because she finds one on the corner of the sink. While she's closing up her cuts, she can't help but to notice that Smith's bathroom looks virtually untouched. That, in itself, is particularly odd.

When Jim returns, Spock's head is ducked low and his eyes are fixed to the screen of her PADD. "Anything useful?" she asks, stepping in close to peer at the screen as well.

"Yeomen Smith had no significant visitors," Spock says. He returns her PADD to her and places some distance between them. "Although there is a particular account of entrance granted to Mitchell, two days after the USS Enterprise was initially commissioned."

"Nothing more than that?" Jim asks with a frown as she fingers through Smith's door entry archives. But Spock is right. There's only one record of Mitchell ever dropping by. "That should be enough of an implication, though," she mutters thoughtfully to herself. Louder, she says, "Apparently he's the only visitor she's ever had. Which _means_—" she drawls, giving a sweeping gesture to the room. "This is all self-inflicted chaos."

"Indeed," Spock agrees. "Then it is as you mentioned before. Yeomen Smith was in search of something—perhaps an item of great importance she misplaced."

"It looks like she was willing to disassemble her whole room for it," Jim adds with a quick glance to the ground. She lifts her gaze to the screen of her PADD and starts thumbing through Smith's cybernetic history. "But she didn't have anything on her, as far as I could tell—we'd have to confirm it with the medical team that was on the scene and—" she pauses with a frown. "There are consistent entries of reminders she placed for herself in regards to appointments she had with Dr. Dehner."

"Then Dr. Dehner may have some useful insight," Spock says.

Jim nods and takes a quick peek at her wristwatch. "I think we're done here. I'll keep looking through the archives for anything conspicuous. I'll squeeze in writing a statement about what happened too." She meets his eyes as she hands him a small note. "She scribbled something, may be nothing, may be everything. I don't know. But if you could look into it—I'd be grateful. And also we need to make some white noise if we want to get ahold of Starfleet and let them know where we're at, and what's going on. We can't really do that if we have our Romulan shadow listening in."

"I will endeavor to build an encryption that will confound their receptors," Spock offers as he takes the piece of paper from her.

"Thanks—anything helps at this point. I'll try and see if I can't come up with something too," Jim says and gathers her equipment.

They wordlessly leave.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**DR. ELIZABETH DEHNER OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Dr. Dehner,_

_I don't feel like pushing my luck a second time, and I can understand that you have prior engagements already scheduled so I'm asking beforehand._

_Commander Spock and I would like to sit down with you again and ask you a few questions about a colleague you may have saw on a regular basis for whatever reason._

_It's important that you can share whatever you can concerning this individual. If you can pencil us in we would both be extremely grateful. I'll await your response for a date and a time of which to meet you._

_Thanks,_

_Captain Kirk_

888

Jim and Spock part ways the moment they step off the turbolift and into the corridor. Spock goes to his quarters and Jim ambles off to hers. They both have a lot to think about and to do, so their last moments together had been spent in contemplative silence.

The moment she steps through her threshold into her quarters, she immediately feels the charge. So much so that she has to stop for a moment and blink through the palpable energy she feels. Knowing the kids had to be the source of it, her eyes seek them out and finds them sitting on the floor of her living room in a circle. They have their legs crossed pretzel style, knees touching together as their fingers were laced under the swell of their chins and mumbling lips. Their eyes were firmly shut and their brows were bunched together in concentration.

But the moment they seem to sense her, their eyes snap open in unison and frantically study her in a mix of relief and fear.

"Lady Jim!" Leona and Riesa cries as they hop to their feet and throw themselves at her waist, hugging her close.

Jasel carefully gathers to his feet and lands a severe glare in Jim's direction. "Do you make a habit of breaking your promises?" he hisses.

Jim rubs the twins' back comfortingly. "I tried to be back before you all woke. I didn't mean to worry—"

"Someone has _died!_" Jasel snaps, shoulders shaking and fists clenched.

Jim is stunned to silence.

Leona and Riesa bury their faces in her stomach.

"Someone has died," Jasel repeats and his voice sounds strained. "And we didn't—we had no _way _to be sure who—because, you, weren't, _here!_"

Jim suddenly understands. "Prince—"

"Don't," Jasel growls and turns away. "You've caused my sisters and I grievance enough."

Jim opens her mouth to apologize but Leona pats her stomach gently and shakes her head. Jim recognizes that for the warning it is and she sighs, closing her mouth and holding her peace.

"Since we didn't know—we were sending up prayers for you, hoping to get an answer," Riesa mumbles.

Jim guides them over to the edge of her bed and they all sit down.

Leona and Riesa relinquish their hold on her waist but still press in close, sandwiching Jim between them.

Jim rubs at her eyes tiredly; her exhaustion is starting to catch up to her. "Is that what you all were doing before? How did you know someone had died?" she asks curiously.

"We're sensitive to change," Riesa says. "And there's something cold that prodded at us."

"We felt that someone had been dispatched in a less than peaceful manner," Leona says with a shrug. "We felt it—no other way to word it really," she says.

Jim just hums thoughtfully. "I didn't mean to worry any of you," she assures.

"Well _I_ know that," Riesa says quite candidly. "It was once explained to us that your duty sometimes demands you to be in dangerous situations."

"And who gave you that explanation?" Jim questions.

"Your charming suitor—the Doctor McCoy," Riesa says.

Jim snorts. Bones will just be thrilled to know that the twins have designated him as her '_Prince_'. "Yes, well—try not to worry yourselves too much about me, alright?"

"You have a sworn oath to us," Leona reminds. "That makes you a citizen of our kingdom, and because of this, we will always intercede on your behalf."

"We pray fervently for both your triumphs and your protection, Lady Jim," Riesa says.

"Prayers?" Jim echoes, a tad bit skeptically.

Leona sports a grave frown. "You scoff."

"Do you not believe in higher powers?" Riesa asks with a similar frown.

"What is there to believe in?" Jim counters.

"Quite a bit," Leona says. "Oh Lady Jim—if only you knew the clarity that awaits you in rumination. When you unite the will of the three, heart to mind and mind to soul, there is so much to be achieved."

Riesa adds, "There is life beyond life."

Jim snorts as she eyes Jasel's tense form. "I'm not much for meditation or religion. I do yoga though—I'm pretty sure that makes me spiritual enough," she says. "And flexible." To demonstrate, Jim hauls her right leg up and settles her ankle behind her head with practiced ease. "Ta-dah!"

Leona and Riesa giggle, clapping their hands.

"Must you treat everything as a joke?" Jasel snaps, but keeps his back to them. "Are you not a leader? Do these people not look to you?" He takes a moment to kick at the leg of her coffee table. "Would you trade your courage for tomfoolery while your brothers take up arms and be dispatched by their enemies. Where is your honor, Jester?"

Jim doesn't say anything for a moment. She recognizes the frustration and concern in his voice, enough to know that this should be a private conversation. She drops her leg to the ground and says, "Girls—why don't you pay Spock a visit? See if you can't swindle him into feeding you and devoting his attention for a little bit."

Leona and Riesa frown and look as if they want protest.

"Please," Jim beseeches softly. "I need to have a special talk with your brother."

Leona and Riesa glance warily at Jim and then Jasel before they nod. They exit wordlessly through the bathroom and disappear from sight.

"Are you upset with me, Prince?" Jim asks after two beats of silence. "Were you worried?"

Jasel whips around to glare at her. "Someone has died and yet you gallivant about, grinning like a fool and trumpeting the tricks of beggars. Have you no personal responsibility? I should expect at least some small trait of it to be seen."

Jim crosses her right leg over her left and leans forward on her forearms. "If I'm not mistaken, we've had this conversation before," she points out. "I don't behave the way people expect—doesn't mean I don't have personal responsibility."

Jasel moves around the couch and leans back against it. The worn-out expression on his face is unmistakable. "For yourself, Jester—I don't mean responsibility in the way of how you do what you can for others. You care for your people—I've seen it." He steadies his gaze with hers. "But you lack self-preservation."

Jim straightens and rubs at her forehead. "You wouldn't be the first man to tell me that," she admits. She drops her hand and blinks at him tiredly. "I figure I was born with it—not something I can really change."

Jasel looks displeased. "I've informed your First Officer of your nefarious habits," he confesses. He frowns to himself and mutters, "But it is clear that doing so has not been enough."

Jim's startled into a disbelieving laugh. "Is that what you and he were talking about when you chased me off?" she asks. "You were asking him to watch me closely—keep me in check."

Jasel goes a bit pink. "I—recognize that there will be times when I am not able to assist you or accompany you, but is it not his duty to see to your protection?"

Jim chuckles a little indulgently. "I think it's _my _duty to see to my own protection," she replies.

"You're horrible at it," Jasel mutters.

Jim hums in agreement. "Yeah—I'm aware of that too," she admits gently.

Jasel frowns and studies her, looking for some form of a physical answer to his unsaid question. He seems to find it because he sighs and doesn't say anything for a while.

Jim is fine with the quiet. Her thoughts are dipping anyway; she's quite exhausted at this point. A night of no sleep is beginning to catch up to her.

Jasel breaks the silence by saying, "I apologize for my callous words. I was—_am _only speaking out of concern." Swiftly, he adds, "For my sisters of course. They are quite fond of you and I would hate to be burdened with their grieving if something should happen to you." He fidgets and avoids her eyes.

Jim smiles a little. "Forgiven," she says. "Next time I'll leave a note so you all know where I am."

Jasel frowns as if he disagrees with something about that statement but if he does, he doesn't verbally express it.

Jim glances at her wristwatch and notices that it's almost eight o'clock. "Are you hungry? I'm sure—" her sentence is cut short by a long yawn. "Hm, excuse me. I'm sure your sisters have a plate waiting for you."

Jasel straightens with a nod but pauses. "Will you—join us?" he asks carefully.

Jim honestly thinks she's a bit too tired but Jasel's looking as if his whole world almost depends on her answer while at the same time he's pretending he doesn't care either way. Why is she such a sucker? "Sure—yes. Yes I will join you," she replies.

Jasel's shoulders relax slightly and he waits as she rises to her feet.

Together they amble over to Spock's quarters.

The door is already open when they step through. Leona and Riesa have a whole set up of food on the floor by Spock's plant (their favorite dining spot). They brighten and beam, waving their hands enthusiastically when they spy Jasel and Jim. Spock is at his work desk, drinking a mug of, what looks to be, a steaming cup of tea with a plate of two pieces of toast. There's also another mug with a plate that also has toast and some apple slices.

Jasel joins his sisters who do, in fact, have a plate waiting for him.

Jim takes the chair across from Spock on the other side of his work desk. She shifts forward, crossing her arms and pressing them against the edge of the desk before shifting one arm and propping her chin in the palm of that hand. She tilts her head and watches the kids for a little while, bouncing her left leg in attempt to stay awake and thinking about how much they look like one another. She almost doesn't notice it when Spock pushes the plate of toast and apple slices towards her and the mug of water.

Jim leans back and blinks at it. Then she glances up at him, but his attention is focused towards his PADD set before him and the cup of tea in his hands. "Thanks," she mutters and suppresses a yawn.

Spock vaguely acknowledges it, looking otherwise preoccupied with whatever it is he's doing.

Jim grabs an apple slice and nibbles on it as she continues bouncing her left leg. It's to no avail because the movement is only rocking her further to sleep. She's chewing subconsciously and leaning her face into her hand as her eyes droop.

Then there is an inky blackness—darkness like she's never known, making cold fear grip at her insides—and there are two glowing, yellowish eyes that watch her with the deepest hatred and hunger she's ever seen.

The eyes stay fixed on her and a low, menacing growl starts to reverberate in her eardrums along with quick and sharp whispers, chanting in foreign tongues.

Chains rattles, clinking and clinking as the whispers grow and quicken while the yellow eyes blaze with malicious intent, and the growls rolls into waves of snarls.

Caught under a sea of exhaustion and something else, visions swirl behind her eyelids. Strange marks and symbols flicker in her mind's eye, burning in flaming embers and simmering into ash. She feels suctioned in almost, like she's freefalling into darkness, unable to catch herself.

"Lady Jim?"

Jim wakes with a start, peeking an eye at Riesa, who's glancing at her like she's looking at the most interesting thing in the world. "Hm?" she mumbles tiredly.

"Your face is red," Riesa notes, eyes roaming Jim's face in fascination. "And—and you weren't breathing," she adds with a little concern.

Jim frowns tiredly. She distantly realizes that her heart is beating fast within her chest. "I'm alright," she mumbles. "A little tired."

"Well you should go rest," Riesa says with a grave frown. "You almost dropped your head in your plate of food."

Jim blinks at that and leans back, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. Had she really dozed off? She couldn't remember at all. "What will you three do then while I'm sleep?" she asks with a yawn.

Leona chimes, "Sir Chekov has offered to accompany us to the botany labs."

"And Dr. Cruise won't mind. He really wont," Riesa promises.

Jim frowns for a moment. "When did you speak to Chekov?" she asks.

"He was just here, he's speaking with Lord Spock outside. You were sleep, Lady Jim. I don't think you heard," Leona replies.

"Well at least Lord Spock didn't want you to," Riesa comments with a small shrug.

Jim rubs at her eyes again and just grunts. "You're already dressed and ready to go—so I wont keep you then, if you really want to go. Be careful," she mumbles, lids lowering slowly.

Leona and Riesa make an excited sound and hop to their feet. They scuttle over to Jim; Leona takes one hand while Riesa grabs the other, and they kiss her fingers, muttering something quick and quiet with their eyes closed. When they finish, they scramble over to the door and almost collide with Spock, who is coming in, PADD in hand.

Jim frowns and wonders.

"Prayers for safekeeping," Jasel explains, noticing the questiong expression on her face as he gathers his sisters dishes along with his own.

Jim stands with a nod and stretches for a moment as she glances at Spock. "Thank you," she says. "Again."

Spock inclines his head wordlessly before he shifts his attention back to his PADD again.

Jim makes her way back to her own quarters and flops face first onto her bed. It takes her a few moments to notice that she isn't alone. "You're not going with your sisters?" she mutters as she curls around one of her pillows and kicks off her shoes.

Jasel plucks one of her PADDs off the ground and fingers through it.

Jim quickly notes that it isn't one of her more important ones so he wont come across anything she wouldn't mean for him to.

"I have no desire to join them," he merely says.

Jim watches as he sits himself down on the floor on the side of her bed, back facing her. She eyes the back of his head before she asks, "Why haven't you asked me to take you home?"

Jasel stiffens for a moment before willfully relaxing. He takes a deep breath and says, "There are some things that have to be sacrificed for the good of others—and at the moment, the presence of your ship in my world would do more destruction than good. No matter how much I long for home, I'd see my kingdom safe rather than not. I would not willfully put them in harms way."

Jim can feel her lids lowering. "It all comes back to the Conjurer doesn't it?"

"Yes. In many ways."

Jim hums thoughtfully. "I'm sure your parents are riddled with dismay—so I guess I should work at rectifying that shouldn't I?"

"It will require more than you are prepared to give," Jasel says quietly. "And it vexes me that I have no doubt you would give your life should it come to it."

"Why wouldn't I? Why shouldn't I?"

Jasel makes a frustrated sound. "You should know that every life has value. Including your own. You shouldn't act so carelessly."

Jim would disagree if she weren't already slowly sinking into unconsciousness, limiting her ability to respond articulatory.

Jasel continues, regardless. "You need not say it, but your guilt hangs around you—encourages your habits of ransoming your life as penance. What you have to be guilty of, I know not. Your sincerity will have done enough to reconcile any past transgressions, Jester. When will you be at peace over them?"

Jim frowns as she slumps further into her pillow and succumbs to her exhaustion.

For someone so young, Jasel sure was perceptive.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**DR. ELIZABETH DEHNER VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Captain Kirk,_

_I would be happy to help to the best of my ability. _

_I am available for a sit-down tomorrow, anytime following noon and before three._

_Dr. Elizabeth Dehner_

888

When Jim awakes, it's nearly five o'clock and Jasel is stooped behind her couch, on his knees and praying. About what, Jim isn't sure, but she leaves him be as she tucks in behind her work desk and begins writing the statement she meant to hours ago. She's working and working while Jasel never moves from his spot on the floor, silently praying. Whatever he's praying about, shifts the atmosphere in the room—charging it in a way that prickles at her senses and makes her stomach leap slightly.

It doesn't distract her from her research too much though, but it does make her long for something. She's not quite sure what, but there is an indefinable desire inside of her that she can't quite place.

Two hours pass like this.

Jim's thumbing through Smith's virtual archives and halfway into stringing together an acceptable line of firewall to pack on top of all of the other codes Spock and her have padded onto their security, when she comes across a name.

_Martha Smith_

It's Smith's younger sister—her only living relative. Jim is quite surprised to know that Smith has any at all. But Smith has her listed as an emergency contact, residing in Hot Springs, Arkansas. Which meant she would have to be informed of Smith's passing. Jim also wonders if she can get a few answers from her sister about Smith and her relationship with Mudd.

Jasel shifts and turns to sit on the edge of the couch. He looks rather dazed and elated—seemingly at peace.

"Have you eaten?" Jim asks as she pulls up the picture she managed to copy before she left Smith's quarters. The latest one of Smith and Mudd.

"I did. Two hours after you slept," Jasel says.

Jim nods. "How long have you been praying? You were praying weren't you?"

"Yes," Jasel confesses, albeit a bit guardedly. "And as for how long, that depends. What time is it currently?"

"Almost seven," Jim says.

Jasel's expression shifts into something thoughtful. "Then that would make it close to eight hours I've been in intercession."

Jim eyebrows lift at that. "Eight hours—wow," she speculates.

Jasel glowers. "Hardly," he replies. "Ever since I've been away from home, I've been spending shorter amount of time in intercessory prayer. Eight hours is like a wink. I've gone whole days before," he boasts.

"Hm," Jim says thoughtfully. "And just who or what are you praying to?"

"I have words with the Everlasting," Jasel says. "And in return, I am gifted with a peace of mind and an untroubled heart."

"Well that's good," Jim says genuinely. She exhales and straightens in her seat. "I need you to do me a favor, Kiddo—tell me if you recognize the man in this picture."

Jasel makes a face at her nickname but he nods regardless.

Jim magnifies the picture around Mudd's face and turns her PADD in his direction.

Jasel leans forward with a frown before he stands and walks closer.

Jim watches him very carefully as he takes the picture in and the moment his expression tightens and his frown deepens, she takes that as a confirmation. "It's Mudd isn't it," she states.

Jasel doesn't say anything at first but he sighs and nods wordlessly.

"Okay," Jim says softly. She puts the PADD face down. "That's all I wanted to know."

Jasel lowers his gaze and nods again.

Jim can see there's a lot more he isn't saying but she's not going to press for anything else if she doesn't have to.

"_McCoy to Kirk._"

Jim blinks before yanking her top-drawer open and grabbing her communicator. Flipping it open, she responds, "Kirk here—go ahead."

"_Get your tail down to Sickbay. I gotta a feelin' I'm about to confirm that little hunch of yours._"

"I'm on my way. Kirk out." Jim flips the communicator close before standing to her feet. She walks to her replicator and replicates a big bag of organic green pea chips. She wrenches it open and takes a good handful before she shoves the entire bag at Jasel. "Let's go, Prince," she says, already halfway out the door, stuffing her mouth.

Jasel scowls but follows, eyeing the bag with distaste before gathering his courage to try one.

Jim watches him out of the corner of her eye as they strut through the corridor to the nearest turbolift. She grins when she notices the way he enthusiastically jams the chips into his mouth, one by one. "Good huh?" she says slyly.

Jasel slows down his chewing enough to offer a grudging, "It will do for the moment."

Jim snorts but doesn't comment, even when Jasel clutches the bag possessively as they step onto the turbolift.

Nope—not a word.

By the time they do reach Sickbay, Bones is about eight deep in his medical team. They're all bunched together around Smith's mangled form, which is hidden under a thin blue sheet on the biobed that's at the furthest end of the room. They all have a PADD in their hands, pointing to each other's screen and mumbling over specific readings.

Jim eyes the room before she spots Chapel standing in the doorway of Bones's office. "Hey Prince, do me a favor. Engage Nurse Chapel in a bit of conversation. Ask her about how her gardenias are doing if you have to but don't wander off. I'll come to you alright?"

Jasel glances at Smith's contorted hand, which is hanging of the edge of the biobed, but Jim quickly steps in his line of sight. "Jester, th—"

"Don't worry about that," Jim says softly. "Just hide away in Bones's office for a little while."

Jasel whips his gaze to hers. "I am not a child!" he hisses.

"I'm not treating you like one, but some of the affairs on my ship are none of your concern," Jim replies sternly. "This is one less thing I want on your mind, okay? Debate your age with me later—I'll be fully prepared to devote my attention to your argument," she promises with a small smile.

Jasel shifts, lowering his gaze and looking a bit uncomfortable. "I'll hold you to that," he mutters, turning away quickly to hide the blush forming on his cheeks.

Jim watches as he approaches Chapel without sparing Smith's body a glance. "Good boy," she whispers as they disappear in Bones's office. She sets her shoulders in a firm line before she makes her way over to Bones, who is sporting a thoughtful and concentrated scowl as he stands in the middle of his staff, dealing out his insight and opinion in that gruff way of his.

Bones is a vision when he assumes the '_Chief_' role of his rank title.

Jim finds it to be quite a fascinating sight, so much so that she hangs back for a moment and just lets him be.

It takes a little bit but Bones finally singles her face out amongst his group of eight. His expression shifts several times before he snaps, "And just how long have _you _been standin' there?" And as an afterthought, seeing how there are personnel around, he adds, "Captain."

Jim grins a little indulgently as the rest of his team snaps to attention and greets her respectively. "Oh not too long," she replies vaguely. "I could hardly interrupt though. You seem on to something, Dr. McCoy."

Bones scoffs and gestures for her to step closer while also requesting for two sets of rubber gloves. When one of his staff gives him one, he hands a set to Jim. Then he shoos his staff away, grumbling orders for them to busy themselves with something else. "Put 'em on, and mentally prepare yourself—it ain't a pretty sight," he warns.

Jim tugs on the rubber gloves with a nod.

Bones walks around to the other side of the biobed and waits for Jim to situate herself across from him. When she does, he grabs a corner of the sheet and carefully peels it back, exposing Smith's devastatingly withered form.

Jim inhales sharply and presses the back of her gloved hand against her mouth as she takes in the sight.

Gone was Smith's youthful veneer, now replaced with tarnished and almost leathery white skin. Her lips have shriveled over rotted teeth, her eyes have sunken into her sockets and were a milky white. Her hair sat atop her skull in uneven clumps like a thin, wiry gob of thick spider webs. And her skin—dear God, her skin—was practically dried out and stretched over knobby bones like bleached rawhide.

It's almost like looking at a half-decomposing zombie.

"We rearranged her back the proper way, so I could examine her and do a formal autopsy," Bones rumbles.

"You know she's really about sixty? I don't have formal date of birth, even within her records, but I found a picture that was dated a few decades back," Jim says.

"I can believe it," Bones grumps. "But Jim—I gotta tell ya," he starts with a hint of disbelief edging onto his features. "Once I cut her open—every organ in her body attested to her true age. Though there wasn't much I could examine," he says.

Jim frowns and drags her eyes up his. "Why's that?"

"Simply for the fact that by the look of things—cause of death can be attributed to severe internal trauma," Bones elaborates. Leveling his eyes with hers, he goes on to say, "She was crushed from the inside out, and not the other way around."

Jim silently reels at that. "Did she have any traces of drugs in her system or maybe hints of electrochemistry?" she asks.

"Took some time, but over the course of eighteen hours, she started to evolve into this. It's like she was working some kind of drug out of her system but I couldn't find a snuff of it in her. I checked more than enough times, but I didn't find anything to explain why she'd turned into this. And when she did—there was rapid progression, unlike anythin' I've ever seen." And it's tangible in his voice, how astounded he is by the situation. "It was like witnessing the evolution of human aging. I'm a curious man but there are some things I can go a lifetime without seein'."

"What about the electrochemistry?" Jim presses.

"That's another thing," Bones says. "Only found traces of it on the damaged organs—or should I say, targeted _at _her damaged organs." He reaches forward and gently pries open Smith's mouth. "Like I said before, the trauma is mainly internal—didn't find a lick of anythin' external though. No hints of skin or hair or blood under her fingernails where she might have fought off her attacker or fingerprints where there should be fingerprints. Take a look here," he gestures his chin towards Smith's mouth.

Jim leans forward carefully and peers down into Smith's mouth. There's some kind of burnt insignia in the back of her throat. "What is that?" she asks with a frown, squinting her eyes to make the symbol out.

"Don't know, Kid, but whatever it is, it wasn't done with a lighter or some kind of cattle prod," Bones replies.

Jim nods and leans back. "Let me guess, there wasn't any traces of metal or lighter fluid," she determines.

"Damn straight," Bones grumbles with a frown as he releases Smith's mouth. "She also had a bit of sulfur in her lungs—which, by my guess, could've meant that if she hadn't died from all the collapsed organs, she sure as hell would have suffocated then."

Jim claws the gloves off as her face twists. "Fuck, Bones. Just what the fuck are we dealing with?" she mutters as she combs her shaky fingers through her blonde bangs.

Bones smiles a bit wryly. "I gotta a few ideas but—well, honestly I'm having a hard time with swallowin' it myself." He sighs and looks a little uncomfortable. "Given our conversation sometime ago, I should say that I read some medical files—you know, unsolved cases with deaths or tortured victims in relation to satanic cults back during my early residency days."

Jim fumbles for the stool behind her and sits down as she uses the tips of her fingers to smooth down the hair of her right eyebrow. She feels a headache building between her eyes. She chuckles a little deliriously. "Aliens, Bones. Aliens. Extraterrestrials. Martians. That's what I'm equipped for—that's what I've been trained to handle. Religious…phenomena? No. Not in the least," she confesses wearily.

"I hear you, Kid," Bones agrees, tugging his gloves off and throwing them away in the nearest trash bin. He then takes the sheet and covers Smith up again.

Jim frowns and bounces her left leg in thought as she crosses her arms. "It's strange—I mean isn't it? To mix science and magic and religion. So strange," she mutters as her eyebrows press together in contemplation.

"What're you thinkin'?" Bones asks, eyeing her curiously.

Jim shakes her head with a shrug. "Dunno. Depending on what Lieutenant Giotto reports, and if Admiral Barnett gives me the green light—I'll have to interrogate Mitchell. At this point, he's our only lead," she says.

Bones snorts humorously. "Well you've got my permission to cross-examine that shady bastard," he grumps.

Jim smiles a little.

"_Lieutenant Giotto to Captain Kirk._"

"Speak of the Cupcake." Jim paws at herself until she locates her communicator. Flipping it open, she says, "Kirk here—go ahead."

"_Ready to report Captain._"

"Understood. Let's do a walkthrough in Interrogation Room Four."

"_Copy that. Giotto out._"

"Well," Jim sighs as she stands to her feet. "Cupcake's got something for me."

Bones snorts.

"Let me go wrangle up the munchkin," Jim says and gives her best friend a quick wave. She edges into the doorway of Bones's office and says, "Knock, knock."

Jasel and Chapel cut their discussion short to acknowledge Jim's presence.

Chapel smiles slowly, with a little amusement in her eyes. "Captain," she murmurs in greeting.

Jim definitely does not think about the night before. "Nurse Chapel," she retorts evenly. "How are you?"

"Fine," Chapel replies smoothly. "And you? Lonely yet?"

Jim chokes on God knows what. She recognizes a come on when she hears one.

"Well, I better go and see if I'm needed," Chapel continues innocently, lips twisted into a grin. "Good day, Jasel." She nods at the young prince as she passes him. She purposefully brushes her fingers against Jim's as she slides past her and out the door. "_Captain._"

Jim is _not _blushing.

Jasel frowns considerably. "Have you settled your _affairs_, Jester?" he asks blandly, eyeing her curiously.

Jim clears her throat and exhales carefully. "Yes—all done here at least," she replies. "Come on, I have a feeling you're going to debate with me in a few moments."

Jasel follows her as they exit sickbay together.

"Kirk to Spock."

It takes a moment but—"_Spock here._"

"What's your twenty?"

"_I am currently within my quarters, Captain._"

"Meet me at the Botany Labs in ten."

"_Affirmative_."

"Kirk out."

Jim steers them towards the botany labs, and when they arrive, she lingers in the entrance.

Jasel narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. "You mean to leave me with my sisters," he states matter-of-factly.

Jim smiles apologetically. "More affairs to settle," she explains vaguely.

Jasel's mouth twists unhappily. "I would not have you go alone," he says determinedly.

Spock chooses that moment to materialize beside her.

"I won't be," Jim says with a nod towards Spock.

Spock lifts an eyebrow in question.

Jasel purses his lips as he studies them both. He then eyes Spock and his shoulders relax a fraction. "I trust that he will act accordingly in my absence as your chaperone," he mutters, tone hinting at a small amount of amusement.

Jim bristles for a moment before she realizes, "Hey you made a joke!" and then, "And at my expense no less—go figure." She makes an unhappy face. "I really am just a clown to you, aren't I?"

Jasel turns quickly, saying, "I've no idea what you imply, Jester." He goes on to say, "I'll inform Sir Chekov that he'll be accompanying my sisters and I to dinner. I can make sure my sisters are in bed at a reasonable time—Lord Spock, please do the same for the Jester." And he's gone before Jim can give the proper response.

Jim scoffs and shakes her head. "Can you believe that? Given a curfew—_me,_ given a curfew. And by a thirteen year old no less—how is this my life?" she wonders aloud. "Don't answer that. Completely rhetorical," she explains. "Anyway—we're on our way to meet Lieutenant Giotto in the fourth interrogation room. He has a report ready."

Spock wordlessly follows her.

"And you should know that I went down to sickbay," Jim adds. "Turns out that Smith's cause of death was severe internal trauma. Bones said she was crushed from the _inside _out and not the other way."

"There was no indication of physical force being exerted?" Spock questions.

"None whatsoever."

"Fascinating," Spock murmurs curiously. He turns his gaze to her. "And what are your thoughts on the matter?"

"Well my thoughts includes inappropriate words—so I'll give you the clean version," Jim says. "My mind is fucking _reeling_ and is currently trying to figure out what the fuck is going on and what it might fucking mean exactly." She pauses in thought before nodding. "Yup—that's pretty much it."

Spock glances at her out of the corner of his eyes before redirecting them forward. "You implied that you would supply me with a '_clean version'_ of your thoughts," he points out.

"That _was _the clean version."

Spock takes a moment to consider that before he responds, "You are deliberately taxing."

"I'mdelibera—_Spock._ Have you met yourself?" Jim shoots back as they step onto the turbolift. It raises a few levels before it comes to a halt.

"In certain circumstances, such a notion would be deemed illogical. But in light of undeniable conditions, I can attest to meeting an extension of myself," Spock replies calmly.

Jim flounders, almost stumbling as they step into the corridor. "Did you just make a _joke_?"

"I do not jest," Spock denies. "You have met my older counterpart as well—it is evident my statement holds merit."

"You're messing with me, you have to be," Jim mutters as she eyes him suspiciously. "And you just have this thing about denying stuff and—you know _you're _the one that's taxing. Me? I'm fine. Easy as pie. Tax-_deductible_."

"We have arrived at our destination," Spock says, conveniently.

Jim makes a face, which she isn't sure what kind, but there is definite (_unhappy_) contortion between her nose and eyebrows and the corner of her lips.

Spock waits patiently beside the doorway, making it clear he won't enter before her.

_Must be a male thing_, Jim silently thinks as she steps through the threshold when the door whooshes open. Her expression straightens out by the time she approaches Cupcake, who courteously stands to his feet beside the conference table.

"Captain Kirk," Cupcake greets gruffly. "Commander Spock."

"Lieutenant Giotto," Spock returns.

Jim sits down at the head of the table. "Sit down," she instructs, motioning one hand at the both of them.

They sit on either side of the table.

"What do you have for me?" Jim asks, leaning forward and devoting her attention to his response.

Cupcake moves his large fingers on the screen of his PADD and pulls up a few statements. "I've forwarded the majority of all the statements I was able to gather to the both of you—these ones, however, are the few you might want to keep in mind. They're detailed accounts of spotting Smith with one Lieutenant Mitchell, six hours before she died."

Jim takes his PADD and runs her eyes quickly over each statement, paying attention to the highlighted sections, which stated Mitchell was last seen with Smith in observation lounge three, deck fourteen. She passes it over to Spock and lets him look it over. Turning to Cupcake, she asks, "And who was the last person to see Smith alive? Were you able to find out?"

Cupcake gives a sharp nod. "It gets a bit sketchy but, some list Mitchell as being the last person, but only two others say it was that shrink—Dr. Dehner," he says with a grave frown. "My gut's telling me it's the latter. Though it's real peculiar for both because I couldn't quite get a precise answer from either of them. They just so happened to be otherwise engaged when I tried to get a statement."

Jim hums thoughtfully and considers it. "Well in any case, thank you." She turns to Spock, who is still eyeing the screen of Cupcake's PADD. "Commander Spock? Did you have anything you want to ask?"

Spock shifts his attention and for a moment, he seems to be caught in the middle of a thought. "I have one," he says. "In regards to the video feeds—were you able to collect any for the kitchen area?"

Cupcake makes a face. "No. Though it wouldn't be as if it didn't cross my mind. Turns out that when they designed the Enterprise, they outfitted practically every deck and corridor with surveillance—save for a few blank areas they thought would not be any lesser without and I don't just mean personal quarters."

"The Mess was one of them," Jim reasons aloud.

Cupcake nods. "Which means it wasn't a mistake that you found Yeomen Smith where you did. Whoever did it sure had it thought out beforehand. You don't just come up with stuff like that off the top of your head. Takes some real consideration," he explains. "I'll tell you one thing, after this, Starfleet'll have to reconsider just how far surveillance will reach aboard a vessel." He stands with nothing further to add. "I'll be on my way if there's nothing else."

Jim shakes her head to the negative, still in heavy contemplation.

Spock returns Cupcake's PADD to him.

"Captain. Commander. Good luck." Cupcake nods before exiting the interrogation room, PADD in hand.

Jim sighs and leans forward, pressing her forehead to the wood of the table and resting her arms over her head. Face hidden from view, she says, "Let me think for a moment."

Spock gives no response.

Jim takes that as his consensus and she spends a moment gathering her thoughts. It's a little hard to concentrate beyond the headache that springs on her. She blinks down at her lap and aimlessly moves her eyes. "Were you able to work in the code I forwarded to you?"

"I found no difficulty in cleaving it to my own," Spock replies.

Jim can't see his face but she still feels his gaze. "Good, I'm guessing that means it will hold up then. We can comm Admiral Barnett."

"That would be wise," Spock agrees. "We may then be able to determine which precautions to take concerning all impending situations."

"Well then I'm letting you know right now that I'm going to ask Admiral Barnett for a go ahead to interrogate Mitchell. We've got too many implications concerning him to just ignore," Jim says, slowly sitting up and leaning back in her chair. Her eyes restlessly search the far corners of the room. "I've gotten Dr. Dehner to set aside some time for us tomorrow as well. Another thing to look forward to."

"Seeing as how Lieutenant Giotto was unable to retrieve a statement from Dr. Dehner, the task will have fallen to us," Spock decides in that bland, over-calculating way of his.

Jim makes a vague sound of agreement. "The young prince was able to identify Mudd for me. I'll have to remember to ask Dr. Dehner about that—see if Smith hadn't made a mention of him in some way or another." She twists her chair in his direction. "Smith has a living relative. A younger sister. She lives in Hot Springs, Arkansas."

"She will have to be notified," Spock states.

Jim is all too aware. "Yes—though I wont be too surprised if it turns out that Smith and her sister were estranged."

"Indeed. The likelihood of such is—"

A buzz from the door interjects.

They both glance over.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Jim asks.

"I am not."

"Well neither am I." Jim stands and approaches the door to press down on the comm unit against the wall. "Yes?"

"_P-permission to e-enter, Cap—Cap—Captain._"

Jim frowns in recognition. "Uhura?"

The door slides open and sure enough, Uhura comes stumbling through. Her hair is down, falling around her in a dark curtain, disheveled and askew in some places. There is a thin sheen of sweat running across her skin. Her eyes are red and her pupils are dilated.

Completely drunk.

Jim quickly reaches out to steady her, completely sure that this encounter will end sourly.

Uhura blinks dazedly, pawing at Jim's arms before she makes a face and pushes away from Jim. "I don't need your _damn _help," she hisses, stumbling back into the wall and sagging against it, using it as her support. She's breathing a little heavily and her fingers keep twiddling as though she were playing an imaginary horizontal piano.

Scotty comes parading through the door, eyes wide and apologetic. "Ah—sorry Captain. Commander. Her and I were having a bit of a drink—she more than I as you can see—and she insisted on seeing you both. I protested of course, but she was determined," he confesses.

Jim straightens her expression and remains neutral as she says, "Lieutenant Uhura, I think it would be best to save this discussion for a time when you are more—fit to participate."

Uhura laughs in that sharp way that only she can. "Oh you don't even know what I w-want to discuss," she slurs with an inebriated grin. She shifts her gaze to Spock. "But you know, don't you? _Spock_."

Spock steps around the table and clasps his hand behind him as he sets his shoulders. "Nyota, there is a time and a place for such—"

"Don't you dare try and talk me down! You put me off for days at a time and think I-I'll just—just bide my time and w-wait for you to address our i-issues!" Uhura snaps, slashing her hand wildly in the air. Her dark hair comes sailing down her shoulder as she pushes back against the wall, pawing at it. "I-I'm not standing back while you cohort with h-her and treat what we have like shit! Damn it, _I'm _a priority too."

Jim winces and feels more uncomfortable than she can ever say. "If you can settle down, I'll give you and Spock some time to talk," she suggests.

Uhura grumbles something and bangs her fist against her own thigh.

Scotty eyes are wide and watchful. "Perhaps I should excuse myself too—you know I don't really feel like I have a connection to what's happening so…" he says carefully, inching towards the door.

"No, no, no," Uhura tuts, curling her fingers in the arm of his shirt and yanking him close, causing them both to almost topple over to the floor. "No one is going a-anywhere until I damn well s-say! And you," she says, squinting at Scotty. "You—you have everything to do with this Monty. You said—_you _said that I should stop t-tucking away how I really feel. That a woman is not some sheep you fly and fancy and something else but that I'm a b-bomb and I can have feelings that deserve to b-be heard and I can e-explode!"

Scotty laughs uncomfortably as he looks at Jim and Spock with apologetic eyes once more. "I say a lot of things when I drink—curse of the Scott men really, so perhaps I may have spoken—"

"Monty."

"Miss Uhura, I really don't think—"

"Monty."

"—explicitly told you the ale was a wee bit too strong for your tastes—"

"Monty."

"—gives a devil may care attitude you'll sooner regret come morning when it wears thin—"

"_Monty!_"

Scotty's mouth snaps close.

Uhura lifts an uncoordinated hand and presses her fingers against his lips in a sloppy manner. "Shhh," she shushes while shaking her head. "I'm talking now, Monty. You—you have to listen to my talking. I do—I tell you I do this for living—for _a _living. Communications Officer Uhura—remember that." She drops her hand before turning a glare on Jim. "You!" She points a crooked finger in Jim's direction. "You—you blonde-eyed, blue haired piece of—_perfection._" She purses her lips and furrows her eyebrows in concentration. "From day fucking one Kirk, it's been nothing b-but a goddamn competition with you. A _c-competition _I always lose. Always lose." She indicates at herself, patting her hand against her chest twice, sagging against the wall. "I mean you've taken p-practically everything I've ever wanted—"

"Nyota," Spock steps forward to placate her but she hisses at him.

"You will let me speak!" Uhura snaps. She pants for a moment and blinks through the haze, clutching Scotty's shirt all the more. She shakes her head and snorts humorlessly. "It took you t-three years, Kirk. Three years to get where I had planned to be in ten—seven if p-played my cards right." Uhura releases Scotty's shirt and pushes away from the wall to stand directly in front of Jim, swaying slightly. "And it's not enough to have the looks but you also have the brains." She pauses to swallow three times. "And now—now, now, now," she mutters with an exaggerate pout and lifting her hands with a shrug. "You've also t-taken the one good thing I—" She stops short as her eyes water rapidly, spilling down her dark cheeks in taunting wet stripes that twist and prods at Jim in her heart of hearts.

Jim is lost. She's made Uhura cry and she has no idea why. Uhura is confessing to fucking _envy _over her—all because of what? "Nyota. I don't know what I did, but I am sorry," she says earnestly.

Uhura shakes her head as she fidgets and sways, face twisting as more tears come. "See—you don't—don't do—that. Y-you don't get to do—that," she sniffs. "I hate—" She shakes her head as scrunches in frustration.

"I'm sorry," Jim says quietly. "I don't—know why—but…I am sorry."

Uhura blinks past her tears, staring and staring and staring until her face twists unhappily as she raises her hand as if to strike.

Jim doesn't move. If Uhura wants to hit her—if that will make her feel better then so be it.

Spock intervenes quickly though, wrapping his pale hands around Uhura's wrist. "I urge you not to follow through," he states lowly.

Uhura gives an empty smile as she looks Jim right in her eyes. "I wasn't going to h-hit her," she says quietly. "I'm not g-going to hit her," she promises, yanking her hand free from Spock's grasp. "I'm n-not going to hit you. How could I? _Captain._"

"Nyota, you are in no condition to address any issue currently. You are behaving inappropriately and your actions, despite your intoxication, border insubordination," Spock warns.

"I don't fucking c-care," Uhura says with a sloppy jerk of her delicate shoulders. "So go ahead and w-write me up. Court martial me. I don't—listen to me—I do not give a flying fuck. So f-fuck you, Commander Spock and fuck y-you Captain Kirk. You can b-both go fuck yourselves a-and fuck each o-other."

Jim feels her eyebrows lift and her jaw slackens slightly in amazement.

"Nyota!" Spock says sharply.

Uhura glares back and wrenches from his grasp. "I _mean _it! You b-both go and be happy l-like your _destined _to be!"

_Oh God_, Jim thinks, panicking slightly as something cold unfurls in her gut. _Please let that not mean what I think it means._

Uhura must sense this because her attention zeroes in on Jim. She smiles spitefully. "Yeah that's r-right. Y-your secret's o-out! I know about the bond. And g-guess what? So d-does Spock. In f-fact he's the one that told me. Didn't say—didn't say who but I managed to f-figure it out. And as y-you can see, I'm f-fucking pissed."

Spock stiffens and his face goes blank for a moment.

"And I can tell you w-why he didn't—didn't say anything to you. It's because you are the l-last person he wanted to be b-bonded to," Uhura continues. "So you can c-chalk it up to shame or disgust—I don't think you can g-go wrong either w-way. Cause you see," she hiccups. "You m-may have everything but y-you'll always just be a p-pretty face—and there—there isn't anyone who'll l-look past that. Captain James T. Fucking Kirk—forever alone." She sways and swallows several times. "Now hold still so I can throw up on you," and that's just what she does. She's heaving up nothing but alcohol all over Jim's chest and feet.

Spock has no choice but to hold her up as she does so.

Jim goes a bit rigid as her mind blanches and her face reddens in humiliation, shame and anger.

Scotty, who has been completely during the proceeding, says, "Never a dull moment here."

Jim glares at him.

"Sorry," Scotty says sheepishly. "I'll help you, shall I?" He scuttles over, pressing a hand to her lower back and guiding her around Spock, who is still dealing with a groaning Uhura, and out the door. As they walk, Scotty says, "Captain. If it's any consolation—"

"Dear God, Scotty. I will love you forever if you say not a word about anything right now."

"Aye, aye."

If Jim thought she had a headache before, that is nothing compared to how she feels now. Especially so since she had to bravely shoulder the looks her personnel threw her as she and Scotty passed them through the corridors on the way back to her personal quarters. And why wouldn't they look? She's practically drenched in puke.

Scotty drops her off right at her doorstep with another bout of apologies.

Jim shoos him off with an assurance that she doesn't blame him for anything. She sighs and hopes that the kids are sleep when the door to her quarters whoosh open. And since she has just a little luck, they are.

Jasel, Leona and Riesa are all laid out on her bed.

Jim leaves them be and quietly makes her way to the bathroom, where she peels out of her clothes and immerses herself in a hot shower.

If there were a word to describe how she was feeling, it would be shock and disbelief.

The feeling doesn't fade away even when she steps into cleaner clothes. Or when she grabs a pillow and a small sheet to camp out over her couch since her bed is otherwise occupied. Even as she stairs up at the ceiling with her hands tucked behind her head, she still can't wrap her mind around it.

Spock knows. He _knows _about the bond.

Has known.

Yet he couldn't be bothered enough to approach her about it. Couldn't be bothered to address it outright.

How long has he known?

Why didn't he say anything?

It certainly explained some of his behavior. The distance he always maintained, the elusive concern he's been showing.

Jim flushes at that. She's no one's fucking burden. She didn't need him to feel obligated to look after her just because of their connection.

What complete and utter bullshit.

Jim exhales in frustration as she shifts onto her side and curls her legs up, staring blankly at the visible outline of her coffee table.

Uhura's words flash in her mind and she can't help but to feel as though there is some truth to them. It definitely was a blow to her ego. And just how is she expected to face Spock after all of that?

For once in her life, Jim actually contemplates the concept of prayer and wonders if it would do any good.

An hour of contemplating and trying to avoid all thoughts having to do with her Vulcan First Officer, Jim gives up with sigh. She sits up and shoves the sheet on her waist off, ambling over to her work desk. She grabs her PADD and a secret bottle of liquid courage she keeps in the locked drawer at the bottom before tiptoeing to the bathroom and eventually Spock's door.

Jim sets her shoulders in a firm line before she uses her override. She doesn't hesitate when the door whooshes up and is only mildly relieved to see that Spock isn't present.

Which is fine, Jim can wait.

This is probably a heinous invasion of privacy but Jim is too determined to care. So she makes her way over to his work desk and sits behind it, propping her feet up and snapping open her miniature bottle of whiskey. If she is going to confront Spock about this bond they share, she wants to at least be edging into being tipsy.

In the meantime, Jim powers up her PADD and distracts herself with some paperwork.

888

**CORRESPONDENCE STARDATE 2253**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T. KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**QUARTERMASTER CHARLOTTE S. BETTS OF USS ENTERPRISE**

_Miss Betts,_

_A member of our crew has passed on. _

_One Yeomen Kelly Genève Smith._

_I've pushed through half of the paperwork on my end and will soon be in communication with her listed family contacts, so that should give you a little less to do. Arrangements on her behalf need to be made in regards to the collection of her personal effects and the clearing of her personal quarters._

_Items designated reasonably in suitable condition can be forwarded to the name and address I have attached._

_Regards,_

_Captain Kirk_

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_I'm a tease but how else do I keep ya'll interested and coming back? I might not be updating so much cause I foolishly committed myself to the Star Trek Big Bang this fall and had this idea for an Uhura/Kirk 20000+ story. So yeah._

_I CAN BE BRIBED WITH FANART!_

_But on a more serious note, if anyone can sketch or do anything and would like to volunteer maybe their favorite scene or moment, that would be so COOL and INSPIRING._

_You guys are the fuel to my writing fire. Love ya._


	9. Part 2

**Part 2**

**Prologue**

There was a time when Spock believed Nyota to be incapable of selfishness and ill behavior. He always viewed her as a woman that was poised and as graceful in all types of proper manner that befits a lady of her caliber. There were also vague assets she carried that reminded him of his mother. She was uncompromising and determined, unafraid, and they were things he found the most appealing.

As they stand on what seems to be the last legs of their relationship, Spock finds that he has been irretrievably mistaken about certain aspects of her.

Nyota is certainly not above vehement acts and vicious slander. She is not above ruthless envy and cruelty. And she is not above self-righteous retaliation.

As he wordlessly guides Nyota to her room, allowing her to lean and cling against him as they maneuver through the corridors, sharp pangs of her frustration leaking through, he comes to some unsettling revelations. And as he uses his manual override, Nyota being too intoxicated to recite her entrance code accurately, and as he watches her fumble towards her bathroom, most likely to heave again, he finds that his anger towards her is one of them.

Spock counts all of the thirteen point nine minutes (with an additional thirty five seconds) she is in the bathroom to grapple at his anger and find an acceptable balance of control over it.

Nyota emerges, swaying to her neatly set bedding, collapsing with a tortured groan and obvious lack of coordination. Her darkly colored synthetic hair falls all around her and across her skin in individual brown stripes. Her legs are dangling off the edge as she chooses to lie at a slanted angle on her side.

Spock feels his shoulders tighten as he assesses her, unable to ignore how, even in the state of inebriation, she exudes an air of hardheartedness and impudence. "Your behavior this evening was unbecoming," he says evenly.

Nyota huffs a bitter laugh as she curls into herself across the deep wine color of her bedding. "_For them, life has just begun but mine is at an end_," she whispers, clawing at her comforter and mouthing at the sheets underneath, a sheen of sweat clinging to her dark skin.

Spock notes her hands are shaking. He finds he holds only a small concern for it as his irritation builds. "You are satisfied with yourself I gather. Your impatience has taken reign over your common sense in the most unfitting manner," he says lowly. "This could not have waited for a more appropriate time?"

Nyota blinks at him with red eyes and wide pupils. Her lids shudder as she rolls onto her back, head lolling from side to side. "Oh," she merely replies, seeming unconcerned. "No."

This upsets Spock further. "You have emotionally compromised yourself, as well as our relationship. And among these reprehensible actions, you have blatantly disrespected your superiors."

Nyota hums noncommittally, blinking unseeing brown eyes up at the ceiling as she tightens a hand into a fist over her stomach. "You don't respect me so why should I respect you?" she snipes angrily, still unconcerned for his feelings on the matter. "It's coming to an end—I know you feel it too, Spock. And no matter what you think, you're going to end up exactly where you don't want to be. And you and her will last longer than you and I ever had a chance of—and I hate you both for that. I hate _m-myself _for that."

Spock tightens his posture. "I see," he murmurs.

There is no sound after this for quite some time. A tight ball of tension furls within him, and he has no way of knowing what to do to release it. How easily it is for Nyota to just give up—to lose faith. And how should he—how can he take that? With Nyota so freely slandering the integrity of their relationship, of Spock's integrity as a whole—what is he to do? Has she always so easily viewed him as a feeble and indecisive partner?

What does one do then—if things are laid so black and white?

While his relationship with Nyota is complex and intimate in nature, his priorities and duties to his Captain and the ship comes first when the situation demands it.

If Captain Kirk will not issue a reprimand, Spock will do so himself. While he holds a certain fondness for Nyota, he is aware of right and wrong—and Nyota, in this instance, behaved irrefutably gratuitous.

Nyota softly sings, "_All I could do, all I could do was cry. All I could do was cry. I was losing the man that I loved—and all I could do was cry._"

Spock exhales carefully as his fingers tighten together at the base of his spine. "Perhaps we should delay this discussion for a more suitable time," he decides. "A time when you can fully comprehend the severity of your delinquency."

Nyota's red eyes flicker to his, staring with unsettling emptiness and resignation, before she closes them and begins to breathe evenly.

Spock gathers that she has deliberately fallen asleep. This vexes him more. He sweeps his gaze across her form and notes that she is lying in an uncomfortable manner. She also has far more clothes than is necessary for sleep, as well as her shoes. Ideally, Spock surmises that it would only be appropriate to aid her, since she is unable to do so on her own.

He steps forward, as if to do so.

_"You m-may have everything but y-you'll always just be a p-pretty face—and there—there isn't anyone who'll l-look past that. Captain James T. Fucking Kirk—forever alone."_

Spock hesitates before he takes an abortive step back, unable to press the memory of her words away.

He watches her chest rise and fall as she twitches in her sleep, sweating and groaning in discomfort.

"Lights to zero percent," and as the room darkens, he turns on his heel and exits her quarters, allowing that as his only courtesy towards her for the moment.

888

Captain Kirk, once again, is in his personal quarters without deliberate permission. As of late, this has become a common occurrence. Spock is unsettled with the thought of having to address the matter directly once again. For there she sits, feet propped and comfortably situated behind his work desk in his chair as if it were her own. It is a quality she possesses, Spock notes faintly, to be able to conquer another individual's personal space and claim it without difficulty.

Captain Kirk must feel his gaze, because she peers over the top of her PADD at him with thoughtfully blue eyes, body still unnaturally at ease in her position. "You shouldn't crowd the doorway like that, even if it is your own," she murmurs carefully.

Spock comes to the conclusion she will not move. He suspects that she may want to engage in a more formal discussion, but he, himself, is apprehensive to address the issue so presently. "You wish to confer over this evenings proceedings," he states it as a fact because he knows it for a fact. Her body language insinuates it.

Captain Kirk smiles a little ruefully.

Spock steps in fully as the door whooshes close behind him. His steps are measured as they subtract the space between him and the Captain. He stops when he is directly across from her, his work desk acting as a barrier.

"And please sit. I—this wont work if you do your Vulcan Loom," Captain Kirk says, shifting her shoulders and lowering her blue eyes in a manner that suggests she is anxious.

Spock feels the urge to frown, or to correct her on unfounded assumptions. He sits down instead.

Captain Kirk fiddles with her PADD in the gathering silence before she exhales, leaning up to drop her feet to the floor and sitting upright. She lays her PADD flat and facedown as she pushes a small, dark bottle of what Spock suspects is some kind of intoxicant in his direction. "Would you like to—do you drink?" She watches him carefully. "_Can _you drink—get drunk?"

Spock considers the question. It's presented two-sided—an offer and an inquiry. "I do not," he responds. "I will not."

The Captain frowns and there is a distant look in her blue eyes that border displeasure.

For what, Spock isn't sure. He is at a loss—unable to shake the blanket of discomfort that covers them both.

"Well then," Captain Kirk sighs and tucks the dark bottle away and out of sight. "Small matters I suppose. We've got bigger fish to fry." Her blue eyes rise to meet his. "Cat's out of the bag."

Spock has no definite response to that or proper statement to begin the conversation. He is distantly aware that humans have a fondness for illogical euphemisms. Captain Kirk especially so, and even more than what is necessary when she demonstrates patterns of nervousness.

Captain Kirk's hands jerk down towards her lap and her blue eyes shift across his face restlessly. "I can understand that you don't want to—I mean, I don't want to either—_haven't _wanted to for the longest of forever," she admits with an edge of weariness.

"I am aware." Spock is only stating a truth.

Captain Kirk blinks carefully at him as her eyebrows furrow. "Yeah—well…yeah. That's the whole point of this conversation isn't it? My illogical apprehension of talking about…" she trails off as she shifts and looks away.

Spock grows even more discontented, and the compulsion to withdraw into privacy and meditate presses upon him all the more. Instead, he finds that he asks, "Why did you not say anything?"

Captain Kirk's shoulders tighten and constricts before she exhales slowly again. She lifts her blue eyes. "Why didn't _you_ say anything?" she counters in a spiteful mutter.

Spock merely holds her gaze.

Captain Kirk defiantly stares back, until she realizes that he will not be so easily moved, causing her to sigh in resignation. "You're not the easiest to—approach," she confesses quietly and he notices she is choosing her words carefully. "Your turn."

Spock ignores the deliberate cue. "My father specified that it would be paramount to allow you the choice of when to engage the discussion rather than the reverse," he admits. "I suspect he has selected ideals about your character that has led him to believe you have delicate sensibilities."

Captain Kirk flushes almost violently and quickly slaps her hands over her face to hide it, seeming thoroughly horrified about the uncontrolled response.

Spock is slightly uncomfortable with how amusing he finds it.

Captain Kirk groans into her palms. "Sarek is unreasonably over-protec—you know what? We aren't talking about your father yet," she decides, dropping her hands and looking resolute, despite the pinkness in her cheeks, which is slowly beginning to fade.

"Indeed," Spock agrees. "You were explaining why you have not brought up the subject."

Captain Kirk frowns. "Now hold on a minute," she says. "I thought I did. I've said you aren't the easy to approach about these kind of things."

Spock is unwilling to accept that as justification. "This does nothing to clarify," he replies and holds back more of what he wants to say, cuts it out of his mind and focuses on her response instead.

"That's the point—to—not. To not—you know. _Clarify_," Captain Kirk says, reaching up to rub the back of her neck, rotate her shoulders and finger-comb the blonde bangs out of her blue eyes. "What do you want me to say?"

"I have no '_want_', Captain," Spock corrects. "You have elected to have this conversation and so I will, as they say, '_follow your lead_'."

Captain Kirk snorts bitterly and hides her mouth behind her hand. She leans forward and stares at the surface of his desk.

What she is looking for, Spock does not know.

Captain Kirk's eyebrows furrow as her hand falls to her lap once more and her mouth sags. "Fine," she mutters. "Fine." She straightens fully and looks at him directly. "You want to know why? You want some deliberate speech about it? Well fine," she says decisively, blue eyes alive with stubbornness and determination. "I'm twenty years old, and would not think twice about throwing myself onto the edge of a sword if it meant saving a life. I threw up _four _times the first time I ever took the Kobayashi Maru and failed. I'm childish and serious and a complete contradiction most times. I _like _being selfish and getting my way. I like sacrificing for the good of _good_. I am obsessed over chocolate because I figure it's the one thing in my life I _can't _let down and who wont let _me _down in return. I love dogs for their loyalty and hate cats because they seem too smug to me.

"I figure no one is going to take care of me so I have to do it myself because I've _been _doing it myself ever since I could even walk. I love apples and for no apparent reason other than I figure I was just born loving them. I think Earth sucks and I'd rather be sailing the stars than dancing across tabletops and serving alcohol like everyone seems to think I should be doing when they look at me. I hate my—_Winona. _And I've never been to my father's gravesite, not once. Why? I don't know. Maybe I have some subconscious need to live up to some imaginary expectations before I do—like I have to earn the right and isn't that a fucking mess of psychologically flawed issues?" She pauses to exhale and lean back in her seat. "The point, Spock," she says, taking another measured breath. "The point is—that I'm in no place in this period of my life considering the thought of marriage—or settling down or having kids, you know, even if I could. And this is because I still need time to grow and _get _over myself. I know I have things to improve and work on. I still have some inner demons to slay and some past ghosts to put to rest. Why would I ever want to drag anybody else into that? Why would I willingly want to include anyone—include _you _into my fucked-up mess I call a life? The answer is that I wouldn't and I didn't want to. I just—I know that you understand that this connection we share isn't defining to the relationship we _choose _to have with each other. Because at the end of the day—at the end of the day, Spock, it's our choice. It's our decision, no one else's. And I respect you and Uhura and your relationship with her and would in no way want to come between that, no matter what your father has said or what Spock Prime mystically believes.

"I never said anything to you because there was a part of me that believed that you would never be any lesser not knowing about it rather than knowing. And maybe I'm foolish for thinking that or carrying the belief that the bond wouldn't really exist in your mind if you never knew it existed at all. So pardon me for wanting to spare you or me or Uhura from a whole mess of fuckery that I am wholly at fault for." And then, as abruptly as she started, she stops.

Spock says nothing, unable to find the proper words to respond with.

Three moments of silence pass this way.

Captain Kirk is eyeing him restlessly. "You have to say something—I'm freaking out a little over here. I said too much didn't I?"

"No," Spock responds finally and can't help but to think, yes, she had. "I am merely—deliberating."

Captain Kirk's eyebrows furrow. "Deliberating?" she repeats skeptically. Her blue eyes sharpen and assess him with unnerving intensity of which she approaches all matters that require a higher breed of calculation. After two beats of silence, her gaze shifts abruptly. "Are you upset with me?"

Spock feels the corner of his mouth shift down before he can prevent it from happening. "What permits you to derive this conclusion?" he questions, genuinely curious. He wonders if anything in his behavior has implied it.

Captain Kirk snorts. "Nothing—and answering a question with a question is a bit of a faux pas, don't you think?" She drums her fingers along the edge of his desk as her blue eyes shift to some unknown point over his shoulder. "And I only asked because I want to make sure."

"I am not," Spock confirms, stilled puzzled.

Captain Kirk gives a jerky nod. "Good," she says, right before she meets his eyes again. "Because _I _am upset with _you_."

"Captain?"

"And things never turn out well when both of us are upset with each other, do they? I've learned that it's only best to have just one of us be upset," Captain Kirk continues, ignoring the question in his voice. "I was irritated before—I'm upset now. And it's because of two things. One," she starts, holding up a finger as she leans back and peers at him from across his work desk. "Is that while you've obviously been poking around in my mind, no matter if it was for my welfare or benefit, you've done it _without _my permission."

Spock stiffens and his uneasiness grows.

Captain Kirk's gaze sharpens all the more, seeming to trap every reaction he gives away. "And two," she goes on to say, holding up two fingers. "Is how you've been acting around me. For example—the distance thing. You always make sure that we're at least four to five steps apart from each other. _Why? _Why, when you just go and peruse through my mind and tidy up all my emotional messes like some kind of obligated housewife? Don't you think that's a little _intimate_?"

"I apologize," Spock says immediately. "If I have offended you and overstepped any boundaries."

"Try a little harder, Spock. Tell me what's going on," Captain Kirk presses.

Spock hesitates and dislikes that he hesitates. But as many times before, the Captain has caught him off guard. Guilt is swarming his senses and as off-putting as it is, he has no way to dampen the feeling. "I—merely sought to do what any friend would do for another," he explains.

Captain Kirk's lips tighten and she turns her blue eyes away while she frowns. "Yeah, but we aren't friends. You've made that clear enough," she points out.

Spock can feel irritation edge it's way into his mind—it festers for a while in the gathering silence. How complex and unnerving Captain Kirk can be, effortlessly. She has a habit of, as the human euphemism goes, '_pressing his buttons_'. "You are attempting to goad me," he decides, and not without disapproval.

Captain Kirk shrugs faintly but he catches the way the corners of her lips try to curl. "I was merely stating a truth," she replies, mocking him openly now.

Spock counts all of the forty-five seconds neither of them speak to dampen his restless emotions into more acceptable levels before he says, "The link we share is a connection that, while familiar in nature, preludes to a union it wishes for us to share. Whether that union is as friends. As family. Or as—lovers."

Captain Kirk makes an indistinguishable sound. "I don't think you and I like each other enough to be any of those things," she states in a matter-of-fact tone.

Spock must agree. At this point, he feels less inclined to carry anything greater than a working relationship with Captain Kirk.

Captain Kirk cups her fingers over the swell of her chin as her blue eyes darken with contemplation. "Well—I really can't think of anything else to say," she admits. "Other than telling you not to dig around in my mind without my permission."

Spock inclines his head.

"I'm not going to say I appreciate the thought or anything because I don't and it—it bothers me knowing that you've probably seen everything," Captain Kirk jerks her hand down to her lap and looks uncomfortable as she avoids eye contact. "_Have _you seen everything?"

Spock has seen a great deal of things. Things that has allowed him to view her in a different light. Things that have explained most of her behavior. Things that, at times, convince him she would not be such an undesired friend.

Captain Kirk must see something in his expression he had not mean to show because she scowls. "Don't you pity me, Spock. I can't—I fucking hate when—" she stops short with a noisy exhale encased in a frustrated grunt and she twists her head away. She doesn't say much for a while. She has her head propped in her hand against the arm of the chair. Her eyes shift listlessly towards his plant and then around.

He can feel her fluctuating anxiety through the bond. It pushes down on his mind and urges him, like many times before, to offer support.

Spock wonders if he should mention this. He wonders if he should let Captain Kirk know that it isn't his own inclinations that pushes him to intervene. That it is _her_ subconscious desire that seeks out the help from the link and calls for it unconsciously.

Spock wonders.

But ultimately, he does not say it.

"Do you know about Tarsus?" Captain Kirk asks after quite some time, voice sounding tired and worn. "Do you know—have you seen?"

Spock has not, though he has heard about that particular incident through his mother and her retellings of Earth news. He knows of the appalling establishment and of the horrid crimes it was placed responsible for. And just like that, Spock gravely desires not to know—and yet…and yet. "I have gone no further than the first time we initially met," he affirms.

Captain Kirk closes her eyes and just breathes for a moment. She does not seem relieved or comforted by this information.

The press from her mind comes to his own a little firmer this time, but Spock does not heed to it. He decides that it would be best to address it. "Captain—you are prodding at me through our link."

Captain Kirk finally looks at him but her expression conveys confusion.

"You often will prod at me through our link when you are emotionally compromised, and the touch does not yield until I intervene and assist in the matter," Spock clarifies.

Captain Kirk's eyes widen a fraction before she frowns and blushes. "Crap," she murmurs. "Figures this would be my fault too. Sorry."

"I do not believe you were aware," Spock comments.

Captain Kirk huffs. "Yeah well, if we'd talked like we were supposed to, I probably would have known and you wouldn't have had to deal with me or feel obligated to—"

"Captain, I must disagree. It is hardly an issue of obligation. It is more a matter of the bond sensing distress and making its counterparts aware so that either can assist the other. _T'hy'la_ expresses our mind's component ability in compatibly offering and fulfilling anything we should lack in any area, whether it is emotional, mental and physical," Spock explains and ignores how uncomfortable it makes him to confess such a thing.

Captain Kirk eyes him curiously. "Basically you're saying that our minds know that we can give the other what's needed and when we're distressed in any way, it jumps in as a resolution—you're blushing," she says abruptly as she eyes him curiously, looking a bit amused. "I'm guessing this isn't the most favorite of subjects between Vulcans," she deducts.

Spock is aware that he is blushing—his ears are burning at the tips, a response he has hated valiantly above all others. "Your assumption is correct," he says as evenly as he can manage.

Captain Kirk hums noncommittally before she leans forward and drums the fingers of both hands along the edge of his desk. "Okay, so—how do I stop from—jabbing at you through our link when I'm—emotionally compromised?" she asks inquisitively.

"I am—uncertain. Blocking you has been ineffective and you do not have the proper knowledge or experience in building and maintaining mental shields," Spock says. "The only conclusion I can come to is to discuss the matter with my father. He may be able to offer the proper solution."

Captain Kirk's expression stutters into nothing and Spock wonders why this is. "I don't—um…fine, okay. But your dad can be as bad as you sometimes. You know he harassed Bones when he felt me die? Took me two hours to fully convince him I'm not really all that incompetent," she mutters unhappily.

Spock finds he is both amused and bothered by the relationship she carries with his father. "As I have cited before, he has ideals pertaining to your delicate sensibilities," he says by way of explanation.

Captain Kirk's stoic mask finally slips into an expression of horror and irritation. "God—please Spock, just stop saying that," she begs. "_Delicate sensibilities,_" she repeats in a disgusted mutter. "Maybe you should let him know we've made amends and we've actually talked this whole thing through. Maybe he'll stop his meddling—and his unnecessary idealizing."

"I agree that he should be made aware, however, I have grave doubt that he will change his views," Spock states and watches as her frown deepens into an exaggerated pout. Captain Kirk can be quite theatrical and childish in her expressions.

"Yeah—I was afraid you might say that," Captain Kirk admits with a sigh. "Well fine." Then she fidgets. "About the mental jabbing," she starts. "I can't promise to—you know—stop altogether because humans aren't Vulcans and our emotions do what they want. I can't say I'll stop poking you through the link—I don't want to but I know it'll happen in some way or another and—and if it's easier for you to help me rather than not do anything, then—then you have my permission to do so. Just, you know—just don't do anything other than that. No more poking around my mind unless I say it's okay, which, you know, I don't know an occasion where I will but whatever. Just until we can talk to your father."

"Of course, Captain," Spock replies.

Captain Kirk makes a face. "Spock—we're accidently engaged and we have five years of working together. You're gonna need to call me by my first name when we're off-duty. I'd like to think that someday we'll actually become good friends, but we aren't getting any closer when you call me by my rank title 24/7," she declares. "Call me Jim."

Spock never considered doing so, nor had he ever considered Captain Kirk making the request herself.

Captain Kirk peers at him with patient expectance.

"Jim," Spock says, refusing to linger on the thought that her name doesn't feel as foreign on his tongue as he initially surmised.

Captain Kirk grins, pleased. "There. Not too hard—I think it's the lack of over-abundant consonants in my name. But anyway, this is good!" she says with a smile and does not elaborate.

Spock is curious, however. "If you will elaborate, Cap—Jim," he corrects.

Captain Kirk looks equally amused and mischievous. "Well, it is good. Because I have this hunch, you see, and it says that now that you're calling me by my first name, I can get you good and used to it, which in turn, will one day clue me in on those moments you're upset with me and/or are revving up to give me a lecture—because you'll want to use my rank title rather than my name. That way I can hit the hills before you do."

Spock lifts an eyebrow. "Indeed?"

Captain Kirk nods confidently. Suddenly, she looks very grave and she asks, "How is Uhura?"

Spock carefully avoids his still withstanding irritation with Nyota to reply, "She is fine at the moment. She had fallen asleep when I last saw her."

Captain Kirk nods sympathetically as her eyelids lower thoughtfully.

Spock does not bring up Nyota's unbecoming conduct because he is most certain that Captain Kirk will brush aside the issue.

But it is clear Captain Kirk is thinking on the situation because her mind begins to prod at his shields, searching unconsciously for the link and comfort.

Spock gives a minute pause before he probes back, uprooting the **_shame-guilt-anger_ **he finds in the shallow recesses of her mind and carefully extracts it.

Captain Kirk stiffens and blushes but avoids his eyes, aware of his actions. She says nothing.

Spock withdraws when he has dealt away with the latter of Captain Kirk's anxiety. He pulls into himself and tucks away behind his own wavering shields, assessing how much time he will need to meditate in order to restore them fully.

Captain Kirk sighs and relaxes her shoulders. "She didn't say anything that wasn't already true," she says quietly. She nervously finger-combs her blond bangs out of her blue eyes. "She didn't say anything I didn't already—that wasn't already…you know."

Spock does not, nor does he hold an avid desire to. "Jim—unabashed disrespect for one's self is unbecoming," he says.

Captain Kirk furrows her eyebrows, blinks up at him and scowls, though she does not disagree with him.

"Nyota's words were born from scorn and immaturity, and should not be viewed as significant," Spock warns.

Captain Kirk shakes her head, blatantly disregarding his words. "It's okay, Spock. Really. I'm used—"

"To being disrespected. I am aware of this. You have said so a number of occasions before, Captain," Spock interjects, not even bothering to cloak the disapproval in his tone. "But I urge you to cease subjecting yourself to such treatment, especially from your junior staff. Even the smallest rosebud in a bouquet of blossomed flowers is worthy of recognition."

Captain Kirk blinks at him for the longest time, looking utterly stumped by his words and unsure of how to process them.

Spock feels his fingers twitch atop the curve of his knees where he has placed his hands. The need to meditate has become a little more urgent. "I will be issuing a formal reprimand to Lieutenant Uhura for her misconduct this evening—do you have any objections?"

Captain Kirk wordlessly shakes her head.

"Then I shall forward the specific documents that require your approved signature and send a notification to Lieutenant Kline in regards to scheduling changes to the senior staff's duty roster. Lieutenant Uhura will be placed on an alternative shift to solidify the error of her delinquency. How long shall I place her on this alternate shift?"

"Uh—two weeks oughta do it, I think," Captain Kirk replies, still looking stumped by the proceedings.

"I too agree," Spock says and stands. "Now if you will excuse me, Jim. I require privacy at this time. If there is nothing further you wish to discuss, I urge you to rest and place hold on any work matters until you have had the sufficient amount of sleep."

Captain Kirk blinks before she stands as well. "I—yeah. I can do that I suppose." She stretches with a yawn and blinks quickly afterwards. "I've notified Admiral Barnett that we plan to comm him in the morning, around eleven am or so, and afterwards we can go pay a visit to Dr. Dehner, and if things go well with Admiral Barnett, we'll track down Mitchell and interrogate him. Sound good?"

Spock inclines his head.

Captain Kirk nods again with a yawn, taking her PADD in hand and exiting with a quick, "Goodnight."

Spock turns and prepares himself for an elongated session of meditation.

888

Jim used to crash on couches all the time back in her high school days when Frank was being an especially handsy-drunken-son of a bitch. She'd forgotten how uncomfortable it could be as you get older. Not that Jim considers herself to be old, she's twenty so why would she? But that doesn't stop the aching crick in her neck from giving her a hard time as she stands at her replicator, making some smiley-face, chocolate chip pancakes for the kids (and oh, who are we kidding—herself as well) while they set to work with getting ready for the day.

Jim is running a bit late with meeting with Spock in his quarters so that they can talk to Admiral Barnett. It's solely her fault. She slept a little later than she was supposed to, and if it hadn't been for Leona and Riesa crying hungry and climbing all over her, she might have slept even longer.

Not to mention Jim would be even later because she would have to shower and get dressed herself. Then round up the kids so that she could drop them off at the Botany Labs for the next few hours, under the watchful eye of Dr. Cruise and his personnel. Jasel hadn't been particularly happy about that but he consented only because he knew Jim would be with Spock the whole time.

Jim doesn't even want to _know _why that is.

"Alright, come on, come on," Jim urges, putting down her plate of half-eaten pancakes to wave a hand over to the twins when they emerge from the bathroom in matching pink floral dresses.

Jasel sets his empty plate aside before he stands and takes over the bathroom to shower and dress.

Leona and Riesa sit on the floor around Jim's coffee table and begin to eat their pancakes while Jim French braids a large outie-braid down the middle of their head.

By the time she finishes, Jasel emerges from the bathroom in pair of khaki shorts and a dark blue shirt that a huge smiley face on it (compliments of Jim herself since she picked out his clothes along with the twins').

"Jasel, you're plate's here—your sisters wants some oranges, so, I need you to do that for me while I hop in the shower and get ready. Kay? Thanks," Jim says in a rush as she jogs towards the bathroom.

Thirty minutes later, Jim is dressed in her uniform and ready to go. She valiantly ignores the obnoxiously huge pile of blatantly clawed orange peels atop her coffee table and herds the kids out the door, glancing at her wristwatch and cursing when it gets closer to one pm. She drops the kids off, possibly overcompensating when she thanks Dr. Cruise a million times, and gives the kids a firm promise she'll be back before dinnertime.

It takes a good twelve minutes before she reaches Spock's quarters. The door whooshes open without her having to ask for entrance, and before she can get a proper foot through, Uhura is whipping by her with tearstained cheeks and an angry scowl.

"Excuse me," Uhura snaps as she brushes past and disappears down the corridor.

Jim takes a steady breath and steps in. She knows exactly why Uhura is upset. Spock must have talked with her and issued a verbal warning, and seeing as how they're dating, that could not have been pretty. Especially the part where he had to tell her she was no longer on alpha shift.

Maybe it was good thing, her being late.

Jim peers around Spock's room as the door whooshes close behind her and easily locates him at his desk.

Spock stands as he adjusts his desk monitor before his gaze flicks up and assesses her. "You are adequately rested," he states.

Jim lifts her eyebrows. "I'm going to pretend there was a question mark in that statement and say yes—I am rested," she says. "How did it go with Uhura?"

Any thoughts or feelings he has on the matter are carefully being concealed behind a mask of cool indifference. Spock goes for his usual intellectually neutral tone as he says, "I presume it went as well as it could have, considering the state of affairs."

Vulcan Translation: _Uhura was the perfect little asshole she usually is when things aren't going her way._

Jim decides this isn't something he must want to discuss if the tightness of his shoulders and furrowed eyebrows are any indication. "Right, well, Admiral Barnett must be scratching his head right about now, wondering where we are," she says as she rounds the desk and makes herself at home in the chair he was just seated in. It's still nice and warm.

Spock, predictably, widens the space between them—but it's only about four steps apart this time, one step less than the usual and so Jim will just put that under her belt as blatant progress and evidence that things are bettering between them. "I can assure you, Captain, he is not. I took the liberty of dispatching a quick notification that the communiqué would be delayed, as you were fatigued by recent events and required a sufficient amount of recovery as consequence. Admiral Barnett, in turn, has left himself available for the remainder of the afternoon to receive our transmission."

"Okay, I don't know if I've ever said this before but Spock, you have to be like _the _most best First Officer to have ever been enlisted in Starfleet. Hands down, feet up, time to play seven-up," Jim declares as she leans back in his seat to peer up at him with a grin.

Spock glances away and becomes unusually quiet for a minute. Finally, he replies, "Your statement is highly illogical, as I am unfamiliar with the game of '_seven_' and '_up_'. Also your praise is unnecessary."

Jim frowns and opens her mouth to argue.

Spock meets her eyes and beats her to it as he quickly adds, "However, knowing that my services are appreciated is welcomed in this case."

Jim snaps her mouth shut and it's her turn to look away, fingering her mouth to hide the secret smile that forms on her lips of its own accord.

Spock shifts and switches on his desk monitor, and it remains blank for a moment or two before Admiral Barnett appears.

"Captain Kirk. Commander Spock," Admiral Barnett greets, flicking his brown eyes back and forth between them. "I trust this line is secure."

"Ironclad," Jim assures.

Admiral Barnett relaxes slightly. "Good. That's good," he says. He glances at Jim. "Before we begin, I want you to know that it's alright. You aren't the first ship to have had to deal with an on-board homicide, and unfortunately, you will not be last. Our most basic goal is to weed out the person responsible and put a stop to the situation before it can escalate into anything worse."

Jim nods with understanding.

"Now—on to matters. I trust you have a suspect," Admiral Barnett says. "And by our last conversation, keeping in mind that nothing has not changed since then, Mitchell is prime at the moment."

Jim nods once more. "Correct. And I'm sure you know that I'll ask for your permission to interrogate him as we see fit."

"I had suspected you would the first time we talked. But," Admiral Barnett begins with an apologetic frown. "I have some good news and bad news to report."

Jim pauses at that and furrows her eyebrows.

"I had a few colleagues of mine do a little digging on Mitchell, and well, what they found, I'm afraid, will not make things any better for you. He's got solid backing as far as connections and protection is concerned. His daddy's got quite the seat in the U.S. Senate, not to mention his mother comes from a long line of prominent lawyers. As far as Starfleet is concerned, we can't touch him. His ties are too deep," Admiral Barnett says.

Jim sighs wearily. "Was that the good news or bad news?"

"That was only part one of the bad news. Part two of the bad news is that I got a small dose of how deep and how far his father's ties are when I brought the matter to the Federation Council. Only took them a day to deliberate but when we rejoined, they decided it wasn't worth investigating and that pressing any further would jeopardize Starfleet's image and morale. Apparently Mitchell would be considered an intentional target of biased agenda."

"_What?_"

"Exactly as I said, but that's their exact words," Admiral Barnett says with a deepening frown. "I'm also expected to issue new mission orders."

"But the Romulans—"

Admiral Barnett quickly interjects, "Listen, Jim—I understand. But the Council feels as if it's a too much of a heavyweight matter for just a newly commissioned ship and her newly commissioned crew to handle. And even though it's obvious you and your crew were responsible from keeping Earth from being blown away, they still figure it was just beginner's luck on that one. They want you as far away from the Neutral Zone as they can have you put and leave the matters with more seasoned officers and ambassadors."

Jim silently swore. "This isn't about anything to do with being new. This is about me slandering Starfleet's good name. This is about their prejudice and fear that the _woman _captaining one of their more advanced and _costly _ships will do something irreversibly idiotic like—oh I don't know—accidently being the cause of interspace war or charging some precious first rate Senator's baby boy, who I know must be thickening the pockets of our most prestige senior officers of Starfleet, with a serious accusation," she hisses.

Admiral Barnett says nothing, but he doesn't disagree and his expression is blatantly sympathetic.

Jim quietly swears again.

"Jim, I know you're not happy, and understandably so—but sometimes these things go like that," Admiral Barnett acknowledges. "There will be issues that arise that the Council will put to bed simply for the fact that their supposed _priorities _will not allow them to overstep certain boundaries and do what needs to be done. That's politics one-oh-one, Jim. Just stand firm and tread carefully, that is the only advice I can give currently."

Jim rubs her fingers along her bottom lip. "What's the good news?" she mutters.

"Good news is I can give you the go ahead to interrogate Mitchell, with the exception that you do not physically harm him in any fashion," Admiral Barnett informs and rolls his eyes to show that, that hadn't been his idea. "Take a good shot at it, Jim. If you don't find anything, you wont be allowed another crack at it, nor will you be allowed to implicate him any further."

Jim swears silently for the third time. Then she sighs. "Okay," she says.

Admiral Barnett eyes her for a moment before he says, "I've forwarded your new coordinates to both of your PADDs. Starfleet has ordered a geological survey of Alpha 177. Wrangle up two away teams, scout the area and report back within a week of your arrival."

"Understood," Jim says faintly.

Admiral Barnett nods. "Good luck to you both, keep me informed when you can," he says. "And if you should need me for anything other than your orders, feel free to hail me. I know a lot of people aren't backing you because they're mindless idiots but you have my support. I know Chris saw something in you and outside of poker, he had sublime hunches so I'm willing to follow through for you the way I knew he would have if he were around."

Jim smiles sadly. "Thank you, Admiral. I appreciate that—more even then," she admits.

Admiral Barnett returns the smile before his eyes flick over to Spock, who has been quiet the whole time. "You look after her now, Commander Spock," and then he says no more.

The screen goes blank within the next minute.

Jim exhales, drumming her fingers along the edge of Spock's desk and mulls things over. "I'm in no rush to lock in our new coordinates. I mean—you don't mind do you? To wait till tomorrow at least?" she inquires, looking over at him.

"I do not oppose," Spock replies.

Jim nods, slapping the surface of his desk once before she stands to her feet. She glances at her wristwatch and says, "Well then—I think it's time we pay Dr. Dehner another visit."

* * *

><p><strong><em>Author's Note: <em>**_Since this part of the series is turning out to be longer than I thought, I'm splitting it into two parts. This is the beginning of the part two, that's why it's so short. Tell me what you think, your feedback reminds me that this is worth every bit of effort on my part._


	10. Chapter 11

**Chapter 1**

"Captain Kirk. Commander Spock. Come in, come in," Dr. Dehner says, stepping out of the way and making a sweeping gesture with her arm to invite them into her office.

Spock waits, letting Jim slide through first before he follows. Dr. Dehner makes another gesture towards the wide, banana-colored couch that sits behind the all white coffee table to the left of the room. As Jim plops down directly in the middle of it, Spock chooses to distance himself at the right of the couch, keeping the space between them at a steady four steps.

Jim is suddenly hit with déjà vu. "We've definitely done this before," she mutters quietly, fully aware that Spock can pick up on it.

As if to prove her right, Spock inclines his head towards her, meets her eye and raises an eyebrow as if to ask a question with that simple physical gesture.

Jim shrugs and shakes her head before her eyes follow Dr. Dehner as the grey-eyed woman situates herself in the opal-colored armchair at the front end of the coffee table. Jim fidgets with a frown and wiggles out of her shoes. For some reason, they felt a little tighter than normal. She sets them neatly off to the side and within reaching distance.

Dr. Dehner hands are barren, no pen or leather-bound notebook in sight. She says, "You wanted to discuss a certain member of your crew."

"A specific patient of yours," Jim clarifies, lacing her fingers together.

Dr. Dehner gives an indulgent smile, and it edges along the lines of humor and condescension. "I consider every life form on this vessel a patient," she replies. "But perhaps if I were given a name, I would know of whom you speak. Though I have an intuitive guess you're referring to Kelly Smith."

Jim gives a little indulgent smile of her own. "Was it the gossip or Lieutenant Giotto's insistent hounding that tipped you off?"

Dr. Dehner chuckles, shoulders tensing in a firm line as her perfectly manicured fingers lace together over her crossed legs. "You can pick either, you wouldn't be wrong," she states simply in a very roundabout way that Jim finds curious.

Jim grins but this time it's merely for show. "What exactly did these weekly appointments entail?"

"Camaraderie—reserved exchanges. Intimate details that she felt could not be shared with anyone else," Dr. Dehner says. "She was a tightly wound individual, highly private but desperate to cleave to some form of bond." Dr. Dehner sighs gently as she removed her glasses. "She was quite lonely."

Jim nods, taking each word with immeasurable consideration and calculation. "And these—private conversations," she words carefully as she glances quickly at Spock and then away. "What exactly did they involve? I mean—what exactly was being said?"

Dr. Dehner looks guardedly uncomfortable. "It goes against my policy of confidentiality to even consider—"

Spock interjects, "Dr. Dehner, Yeomen Smith was brutally murdered, without provocation aboard this vessel. Clinging to the notions of privacy would be illogical, even more so when any information could be of use to us."

Jim fights back an appreciative grin, but honestly she could high five her First Officer for his witty strike at Dr. Dehner's gathering excuses.

Dr. Dehner's expression goes a bit stale but she nods obligingly. "Understood," she says reluctantly. She shifts in her seat and slides her glasses on. "Kelly was a very—special case. She exhibited multiple diagnoses of Schizoid Personality Disorder, Manic Depression—not to mention delusions of reference."

Jim feels her eyebrows skyrocket. And Smith was allowed on her ship? "I'm sorry—I just—I don't seem to…delusions of reference?"

Dr. Dehner nods gravely. "Although it is highly unusual for a woman with all such psychologically diagnosed disorders to be cleared for full active duty, there are stipulations—actions, that, one could take to ensure that they are treated as fairly as possible if they were adamant about pursuing a specific position in Starfleet. Now seeing as Kelly sought to be a Yeomen, exceptions came very easily for her concerning her medical disadvantages. Hence, the reason for our weekly appointments. One of the stipulations for being cleared for active duty is that she willingly seeks counseling with a medically trained individual that could report no harmful or alarming behavior that would cause her to be discharged from her position."

Fucking Starfleet. Jim doesn't verbally express her agitation but she wouldn't put it past those stiff-necked admirals to overlook Smith's case in order to make things a bit harder for her. She takes a steady breath.

Spock says, "Lieutenant Giotto informed us of his inability to obtain a suitable statement in regards to Yeomen Smith's last moments spent in your presence."

Dr. Dehner glances back and forth between them with a regrettable sigh. "It wasn't an accident that I refused to make a statement. I don't feel comfortable having to tell you this directly but I feel it is for the best." She held up a finger and went to her work desk. She spent a few seconds rifling through her drawers before she pulled out a leather-bound journal, quickly flipping the pages. "I wrote this down, because—I had planned to approach you with my concern." She looks directly at Jim as she says, "Three hours before midnight, she came to me—frenzied and jittery—unlike any way she has ever behaved before. She would not look or speak to me directly when I inquired on her well-being. She seemed—distant. So very distant—and she wouldn't stop quoting scriptures from the bible." She looks down at her journal and continues, "Finally, at the end of the hour, she stood to leave and said, and I quote, '_He wont let me eat. I try—I try so hard but he allows no me peace. No sleep, no thought or function. He feeds off my pain, my isolation. I am consumed by his hunger—by his desire. He wants her—he wants her—has wanted her since he felt the transition of her soul into this lifetime. I pray to God for forgiveness but I pray for Captain Kirk more. I will be relieved when he frees me but I will mourn for her the burden that she will undertake in my stead._' End quote." Dehner shifts and exhales. "Well," she begins. "You should know that Kelly held the belief that she was condemned. A bargained vessel that was plagued by demonic forces."

"Possession," Jim mutters, albeit disbelievingly. "She believed she was possessed."

"Tormented, would be the way she would describe it, but yes," Dr. Dehner agrees. "She often stated she was the victim of blinded love that saw an unworthy trade for external youth for the blessing it certainly was not."

Jim suddenly feels sick. She feels sick and uncomfortably aware of her own genius that undeniably points out the connections between the pictures she found in Smith's quarters and Bones's resolutely grim medical conclusions. Smith, so in love with her husband, bargained her own soul for the one thing that would keep him in a state of happiness: her youth and beauty. The God-awful truth of it all slithers down her throat and warps her mind. She still does not believe in religious deities but she cannot deny that there is something dark at work. An unhealthy darkness that Smith willing dabbled in, along with her husband Mudd and perhaps even Mitchell.

There's no doubt that Smith's impromptu meeting was nothing but a opportunity to do—whatever Smith had intended to do. Maybe the goal had been to pull Jim herself in on that unhealthy darkness. The image of Smith's mangled body flashes across her mind, and Jim feels so fucking sick.

Spock seems to be aware of her internal struggle, because he says, "I believe that will suffice—"

"Not quite," Jim interjects with a raised hand, staving off his intervention and ignoring her own shaking nausea. She gives Spock an apologetic look and he holds his peace. "Family," she begins with a dry swallow, focusing her gaze on Dehner's small shoulders. "Did she ever talk about family? Relatives—relationships—contacts."

"Not exclusively. I really must emphasize how much of a private person she was," Dr. Dehner admits and snaps her journal close. "But there was a sister I believe. Younger, even. But my understanding of the situation is that they were at odds and had been for a number of years."

Jim considers that, making a mental note once more to contact Smith's sister personally. She presses on, "And relationships?"

"Captain Kirk," Dr. Dehner says with a confused smile. "Was is that you're trying to pry from me? I mean, with all due respect—I get the feeling you may know more than I do."

"I wouldn't exactly say that," Jim deflects, crossing her arms and holding on at the elbows before she leans forward on her thighs. Gravity pulls her blonde bangs right into her eyesight. "Commander Spock and I are only trying to narrow down a list of suspects. So it would be very helpful if you could remember if she ever at least hinted at having a husband or some significant other. At _any_ point."

"I see," Dr. Dehner says vaguely, rubbing the middle knuckle of her index finger across the swell of her bottom lip. "Well," she inhales, crossing her legs and leaning more to the right. "She, like all young women her age, experienced a handful of sexual encounters. Healthy encounters of course, mainly with the opposite sex—not withstanding however. I could even go as far as saying that she seemed to have an aversion to long term relationships."

_Yeah, no surprises there. Seeing how she was already married, that might have become a problem,_ Jim thinks to herself with a brief sort of bitter amusement. _Obviously she wasn't all that happily married if she had no problem with cheating._

"So she had a preference for one night stands?" Jim guesses, flexing the toes of her left foot as she frowns thoughtfully.

"Sexual encounters," Dr. Dehner corrects patiently. "'One night stand' is a negative term I don't believe in endorsing when referring to the female counterpart."

Jim inhales slowly and exhales carefully. "Okay," she says simply. "Did she ever mention a—_sexual encounter_ that might have happened between her and someone else aboard this ship?"

"I don't believe so," Dr. Dehner says before her eyes flicker over to Spock, then back again. Strange. "If so she never made mention of it. Once again—"

"She was a very private person," Jim recites with an ironic grin. She watches as Dr. Dehner nods as if to confirm the truth in her words. Jim sees this line of questioning isn't getting her anywhere. She really was only curious about if Smith had ever slipped up and mentioned Mudd, but apparently not. That tidbit is frustratingly confusing. Just what had they been playing at? She looks at Spock. "Did you have any questions?" _Otherwise I'll just keep driving us in circles if you let me babble on, _she mentally adds.

"With your permission, referring to Dr. Dehner's earlier statement," Spock replies. "There is an inconsistency that requires extensive deliberation."

Jim nods with a shrug. She's not sure which exact statement he's referring to but she's curious and willing to turn the conversation over to him.

Spock accepts her silent affirmation and steers his dark eyes in the direction of Dr. Dehner. "Of your encounters with Yeomen Smith, how frequently was the Captain's ill will the main topic?"

Jim feels her eyebrows lift. That was a good question. She looks at Dr. Dehner expectantly as well.

"Well she had expressed an explicit dislike towards Captain Kirk. But that was in reference to the Captain's character and behavior," Dr. Dehner explains as she laces her thinly nimble fingers together over the journal in her lap. "Let me elaborate—she never spoke of harming the Captain. She just felt very disagreeable about her and her work ethics."

Jim snorts, but says nothing when Spock and Dr. Dehner glance her way. She knew good and well how Yeomen Smith felt about her work habits seeing as how she never really applied herself all that much when it came to paperwork and applying her signature here and there.

"How common were these complaints?" Spock questions. "If you also have an average, please provide this estimate as well."

"Sometimes she spent a good five to fifteen minutes on this topic alone. This was every session. She'd describe how unbearable it felt to deal with Captain Kirk and her lack of cooperation. How Captain Kirk made things harder and slower than they had to be. Simple work related jibes. Nothing more," Dr. Dehner explains. "It's not uncommon for an individual to complain about their work or the people that they work with."

"Understood," Spock replies, monotone. "Yet you stated that she sought you out three hours before midnight, prior to her meeting with Captain Kirk with disturbing allegations. Acting unlike herself."

"Yes," Dr. Dehner says slowly. "This behavior was uncommon."

"Nonetheless, you have made it clear that Yeomen Smith frequently voiced her dislike for Captain Kirk which makes her unsavory actions not wholly irreproachable," Spock declares soundly.

Jim glances back and forth between them. Spock looks adamant while Dr. Dehner looks properly chastised. In this verbal tennis match, Spock is dominating, as he usually does. Jim is secretly envious of his oral prowess.

"Kelly Smith was not a violent individual," Dr. Dehner protests weakly. "She had _no _former incidents that would—"

"Was it not stated that her diagnosed conditions included multiple diagnoses of Schizoid Personality Disorder, Manic Depression, as well as delusions of reference?" Spock counters.

Dr. Dehner quietly and reluctantly nods.

"Therefore it is highly possible that a woman with conditions such as hers could easily harm not only herself but others, correct?" Spock continues.

"Yes," Dr. Dehner admits unwillingly. "_Without _the necessary treatment or intervention, of which, she had access to."

"Doctor, an individual can prepare for rain by facilitating the use of an umbrella but the object itself holds no guarantee of keeping the individual completely dry," Spock counters evenly.

Dr. Dehner says nothing to that, but then, "There is and was no way to ever really be sure Commander Spock. A case such as Yeomen Smith's could have gone either way. Murder, suicide or homicide was never an option, and it certainly was never a factor."

"Perhaps if it had been, then certain situations could have been avoided," Spock remarks, unapologetic. "It has come to my attention that at anytime after or during your encounter with Yeomen Smith you could have alerted either myself or the Captain to the situation. Instead, you held your silence until it was within our obligation to seek you out. As such, your misguidance, unintentional or not, has put this crew and it's Captain at risk. Unfortunately, the repercussion will be a reassessment of your competency suited to your specific field by an evaluation board of your superiors."

Dr. Dehner looks properly scolded but she still finds the energy to nod.

"If there is no dispute over the matter, the Captain and I shall take our leave," Spock decides and stands. He makes no move to actually exit until Jim has risen to her feet. "Until you are assigned a formal hearing, it would be wise to alert your patients and postpone any impending appointments until a deliberation has been made."

Dr. Dehner nods but her expression sours a bit.

"Dr. Dehner," Jim says by way of goodbye. She grabs her shoes without putting them on and turns to exit just as Dr. Dehner walks them to the door. Jim leaves silently with Spock in tow and they both drift down the corridor. She spends that silence going over everything that has just occurred and really lets it all sink in. Midway to the lift, Jim says, "How is it that you're so good at disciplining our personnel?"

Spock does not acknowledge the question until they are on the lift. Even then, he waits until after he pushes a number and tucks his hands behind his back before he responds, "I feel no apprehension on the matter of discipline. As First Officer and Commander, I must acknowledge that my position will require me to correct all errors I have identified in your stead when you have not or refuse to do such. It ensures full functionality of the ship."

"Are you trying to say I avoid disciplining my crew? Because we can go find Mitchell right now and I can prove you wrong," Jim argues and resists the urge to cross her arms and pout because that would be childish.

Spock glances at her with a quirked eyebrow. "Of that I have no doubt, but Mitchell, to date, has been the only exception," Spock remarks. "Your judgment regarding other matters of discipline elsewhere leaves much to be desired."

Jim scoffs. "Well I just—that's—" she fumbles for a response. "I disagree," she says finally. "In fact. I'm willing to wager this. I bet I can be a lot stricter and deal out the punishment that fit the crimes when the time comes to it. And you won't even have to. All you have to do is stand there and basically—continue to exist."

"Indeed?" Spock challenges, and it's amazing how he can make such flat and even speech sound skeptical. "I must disagree. Of those moments when conveying discipline was mandatory, my intervention was required 96.2 percent of the time. I also decline your challenge seeing as there is no benefit to be gained for either of us."

"No?" Jim grins just as the door to the turbolift whooshes open and they step out into the corridor. She's not sure where they are or where they're going but that moment it really wasn't priority. "What if I made it worth your while?"

"I assure you Captain, you can not make it '_worth my while_'. Gambling is a disreputable habit I do not condone," Spock states in that matter-of-fact tone.

"Not even if I promised to agree wholeheartedly with your every opinion on any matter if you should win for the next three months?" Jim tempts and watches in satisfaction the telltale twitch of interest that worries Spock's brow. "Think about. If I can't manage to be the proper disciplinary by the end of this month, than it's your victory. Which _means—_three months of me agreeing to stay aboard the ship during our missions and leaving the excavating to our more than capable away teams. I wouldn't argue with you looming behind me like some bodyguard if I were on my way to some private meeting with one of our personnel. I would _even _tell you, in _explicit detail_, how I managed to beat the Kobayashi Maru."

"Captain, that will—" Spock hesitates and Jim can see the indecision that's threatening to usurp his usually expressionless face.

"Come on," Jim urges. "I'm giving you so much leeway here. Say yes. What's the worst that can happen? Don't answer that. Instead—think of this as like a team building exercise. A random, out of the blue and odd team building exercise. In space. And you know—it might actually teach me a lesson or something."

Spock expression slouches into something more apprehensive and there is a fleeting moment where he looks like he might even lecture her. But he doesn't. His dark eyes flicker to and fro from one end of the corridor to the other before he straightens and turns to face her directly. His clasped hands lift a little higher behind him before he asks, "And if the odds should lean in your favor? What would you require as recompense?"

Jim smothers a grin but she's sure it's fruitless. She just wants to remember this moment forever. She might actually be convincing her logical First Officer to participate in something that he wouldn't normally. God—he might not be so bad after all. "Well," she finally says, pretending to think about it very carefully even though she totally knows what she would want. "I suppose, if I were to—I don't know—_win_," she drawls. "You have to do two things for me."

Spock inclines his head as if to urge her to continue.

"One—stop being an uptight jerk. I mean you can lecture me or whatever, you're Vulcan and that's like a thing so I wont deny you that simple pleasure, so go ahead and join up with Bones and nag me and I'll still do what I want anyway—but don't treat me like I'm a little kid or the dirt between your toes—yes I know, another illogical metaphor but you get the gist of what I'm saying so I wont bother wasting two minutes in explaining it," Jim states without pause. "And two—you have _got _to help me with all the paperwork. I don't mean do it for me, I just mean help me with it because to be honest with you, if it's anything more than scribbling out my signature I am just hopeless. Like very. I kind of skipped out on that leson back at the academy. Yeomen Smith was not exaggerating about my horrible paperwork skills."

Spock considers her words for about two hiccups of silence before he, albeit a bit cautiously, says, "Very well. I agree to your terms."

"That would be wise," Jim retorts with an amused smirk. "So uh—let's shake on it." She reaches out with her left hand, one of her heels pointing at his waist like a gun and offers it, looking at him expectantly. Jim is _always_ considerate and _mindful_.

Spock's brow furrows for a brief moment before he wraps his pale fingers on the pointed tip of the shoe and shakes it as if they were really touching hands.

"Awesome! So it's settled. Starting now, all disciplinary matters will fall to me until the end of this month," Jim announces and puffs out her chest with confidence. "And my first order of business will be to start with Mitchell." She turns to locate a video monitor and inquires on the whereabouts of Mitchell.

The computer replies, "_Lieutenant Commander Gary Mitchell is located in Officer Training Center, deck 8_."

Jim isn't surprised when she and Spock stand in the threshold of the training room some minutes later to see Mitchell doing a set of pull-ups on a metal bar several feet off the floor while a group of female onlookers sigh, coo and cheer him on. It's a miracle Jim doesn't throw up on her feet right then. But she does roll her eyes and lets her mouth sag with an unimpressed frown. That frown deepens when Mitchell spots her and smirks while he picks up the pace of his pull-ups—even going as far as kissing his biceps and winking.

"Commander Spock," Jim says between clenched teeth. "Would you do me the grandest favor of retrieving Mitchell because if I have to do it myself I will strangle him?"

"That would be best," Spock agrees with a thoughtful frown as he watches the continuous speculation Mitchell is causing and stalks forward.

Jim watches as Spock and Mitchell exchange words before Mitchell frowns unhappily and drops down from the pull-up bar, reaching for the nearest towel and rubbing it across his sweaty naked chest. God damn it, Jim hopes Spock will ask him to put on a shirt because otherwise she will sadly have a hard time concentrating on interrogating him like the criminal he is. And wouldn't that give Spock an advantage with their bet? No thanks. If Jim is anything, it's competitive.

Spock makes an indication to a shirt on the floor and Mitchell scowls but swipes it from of the floor and shrugs the white t-shirt on.

"Oh thank God," Jim mutters to herself in relief. Sometimes she really does hate her libido. It throws a wrench in her priorities sometimes.

Spock turns with an unhappy Mitchell in tow and treks back over to Jim.

Mitchell opens his mouth, most certainly to say something that Jim will want to punch him in a throat for, but she cuts him off, "This way gentlemen."

The nearest interrogation room is about two levels down and takes three minutes to get to. The entirety of those three minutes is spent in silence, and for that Jim is grateful. She unlocks the room and gestures for Spock and Mitchell to enter first before she tweaks with the access pad to activate all of the cameras and microphones in the room and enters a subroutine that allows a copy to be stored directly in the databanks of her personal PADD. She may need to go over this whole encounter later—it's best to be prepared.

Jim enters and the door whooshes close behind her as she joins Spock on the opposite side of the silver table. She sits down and Spock follows.

Mitchell—already seated—just glances around, looking bored with the entire thing already.

"Device functionality check—interior, interrogation room five—code 50234," Jim says towards the ceiling as she crosses her legs and folds her hands atop her thigh.

"_Motion sensors activated—recording devices at the ready and fully operational. State your name and purpose for documentation, please,_" the computer chimes in return.

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise, followed by my First Officer, Commander Spock. Commander?"

"Commander Spock speaking. It is the fifteenth of April, Stardate 2253, and standard Earth time 1514. On the other side of this conversation is one Lieutenant Gary Mitchell," Spock cites, because this is standard procedure. "Of whom understands that every word stated will be weighted, correct?"

"Undoubtedly," Mitchell agrees with a slow smirk as he eyes Jim like this is a game and he's very amused by it. "Lieutenant Gary Mitchell speaking, giving full consent to the proceedings."

"Right," Jim continues, ignoring him. "Commander Spock and I would like to question you about the death of Yeomen Kelly Smith and your whereabouts during that time."

"I guessed as much," Mitch retorted as he leans back in his seat casually. "You weren't exactly being subtle when you sent your lapdog after me. What was his name? Giotto?"

"It was within his right to do so. As it was your obligation to respond," Spock states.

"I won't argue that," Mitchell says simply. "But the guy's somewhat of a bulldozer. Not very likeable." He flicks his gaze over to Jim once more, and there is something in his green eyes that says he knows about her personal opinion of Cupcake. A recently changed opinion—but the opinion nonetheless.

"Is that why you avoided giving him a statement?" Jim asks, watching him carefully. "Because he's not very '_likeable_'?"

Mitchell shrugs but doesn't verbally confirm or deny.

"Where were you the night Yeomen Smith was murdered?" Jim asks instead.

Mitchell pretends to think about it before he responds, "In Venice. Eating mostacholi under the ceiling of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel. That is to say I was actually in my quarters, resting peacefully and dreaming that I was."

"So your room logs will attest to that?" Jim asks, gaze unwavering.

"They will," Mitchell remarks confidently.

"Okay," Jim says merely.

"Is this not something that could have been stated to Lieutenant Giotto?" Spock probes in that calculating way of his. He must see the same kind of hole in Mitchell's reasoning as Jim does.

"Sure, I guess," Mitchell says with another shrug. He's being very blasé.

"Your actions, however, were contradictory," Spock considers.

"Meaning?" Mitchell drawls.

"Meaning you avoided Lieutenant Giotto like you had something to hide," Jim clarifies impatiently.

"Well," Mitchell smirks. "I apologize if it comes off that way. I assure you that's not the case."

"Then what is the case?" Jim counters. She spends a moment staring at him before she asks, "What kind of relationship did you hold with her?"

"'_Her' _being?" Mitchell drawls, playing it dumb.

"Yeomen Smith," Spock elaborates as his expression flattens out into something disapproving.

"Define relationship," Mitchell retorts with an amused frown. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and meets Jim's eyes. Something dark twists in his green eyes as the corner of his lips curl and he looks as if this is all one big joke. "Are you asking if we fucked?"

"Not in those exact words, if at all," Jim replies, keeping her expression neutral. Whatever game Mitchell is trying to play with her, she wont participate. "But I'm guessing by your statement, you two were familiar with each other—intimately."

"So we fucked," Mitchell says crudely with a careless shrug and leans back. "And it's unfortunate what happened to her. Really. But I didn't kill her."

"How often did you and Yeomen Smith engage in sexual relations?" Spock questions. "As accurately as you are able, provide a close estimate."

Mitchell smirks at Spock. "Just the one time," he says. "And as incredible and world-shaking as that one time might have been—nothing after that."

"And then what? You guys went back to being coworkers?" Jim prods with a thoughtful frown. "You didn't talk? You didn't interact? You just left well enough alone, is that it?"

"Well we were never friends to begin with. She was a bit uptight—outside of the bedroom that is," Mitchell says with an airy wave of his hand. "I wouldn't exactly say we knew each other before then."

"So you meet each other for the first time and what? You slept together? And then nothing," Jim guesses, trying to sort Mitchell's story out but she feels like there is something there still. The bastard isn't being all the way about it.

"That's how one night stands work right? I'm sure your no stranger to that, _Captain_," Mitchell clarifies with a leer.

"Lieutenant Mitchell, that is the fourth time you have spoken out of turn towards the Captain. Please refrain or you will be reprimanded," Spock warns neutrally.

Mitchell huffs out a laugh but he lifts his hands to show he's harmless.

"Are you aware that Smith was married?" Jim asks.

"No, Captain, I can honestly say I didn't. She sure never said anything when she propositioned me," Mitchell admits as he rubs a hand up and down his forearm and leans forward again.

Jim stares at him with a frown.

Mitchell must see something in her expression that causes his lips widen into a devious grin. "Oh I see," he says with a quick laugh. "You thought _I _propositioned _her. _Polite, decent, little married Kelly, yeah?"

Jim had.

"Oh that is rich," Mitchell murmurs with a grin. He flicks his gaze over to Spock and says, "You know people are always so quick to assume that it is the guy who is the aggressor. Now how does that work with women? You get to be the victims and what? We men are the brutes? Do we take accountability for everything?" He looks back at Jim. "I'm assuming you've not seen much of the femme fatal? Why is that I wonder? Does your darling face fashion monsters out of men, Captain?"

"I'm allowed to make assumptions," Jim says defensively. The truth in his words, how closely they hit home—it's making her uneasy and she's locks her heart, her emotions and her memories up as an instinctive response.

"Are you?" Mitchell murmurs, green eyes darkening and turning sharp as they fix upon her determinedly. He looks at her like he's caught her, like he's found a way in and it makes Jim uncomfortable.

Spock senses the turmoil so he interjects himself in the conversation by saying, "For all intents and purposes Lieutenant Mitchell, I must remind you the current proceedings are an examination of your character."

"That is true," Mitchell agrees with a put-upon thoughtful frown. "But I think the problem with our Captain is that she, herself, has always been on the other side of the spectrum. Chased but never chasing."

"I'm sure I disagree. And we certainly haven't spent enough time together for you to be so sure in your assumptions about me," Jim retorts with a flat frown.

Mitchell smirks suddenly, "Ah but couldn't I say the same? You and your Commander are so quick to interrogate me about Smith. But I do have to wonder where your basis is coming from?" He pauses as if to think it over and leans back in his seat. "Unless all you're preconceived notions are still rooted from our night together."

Jim's mouth tenses into a thin frown and her entwined fingers tighten around each other.

Mitchell glances at Spock with a smirk. "Or hasn't she said? Was she so quick to label me as a suspect and never mentioned once that we had a very enjoyable evening together?"

"That is irrelevant to the current proceedings," Spock replies, always one to stay on task. "You mention being propositioned by Yeomen Smith. Please elaborate."

"Not much to elaborate. She was very straightforward. Asked me if I wanted to come back to hers and I said yes. And now some weeks later, here I am, being questioned about her death," Mitchell explains. "How many times do I have to say that I didn't kill her before it actually sinks in?"

"I think there's more to you than meets the eye_, _Mitchell," Jim remarks and watches as both of his eyebrows lift. It was time to turn the tables and get him cornered. "How exactly did you know about Sulu's father?"

Mitchell's face flattens out into a neutral expression.

Jim grins amusedly. "I'm sorry," she says, not at all genuine in this apology but rather smug. "Is that something you don't want to talk about? Did I surprise you?"

"I thought we were discussing Smith," Mitchell mutters instead.

"Oh we are," Jim says as she leans forward confidently. "But we can come back to that. Commander?"

"Lieutenant Sulu stated that on the day the USS Enterprise was commissioned, you commented on the welfare of his father's health—information that was not only private but also scarcely known. Explain," Spock requests steadily.

Mitchell stares at Spock, then at Jim—back and forth, back and forth. "I happened to overhear—"

"Illogical," Spock interjects immediately.

Mitchell scowls. "Well then I guess I have some keen discernment," he sneers.

"Is that what you call it?" Jim questions, leveling him with a knowing gaze. "_Discernment?_"

"Well what would you call it then?" Mitchell asks curtly.

"ESP," Jim answers.

Mitchell's expression shudders into something dark before it altogether becomes a blank slate.

"You know I was really surprised when I had Doctor McCoy dig through your medical history for me. It's clean. Almost too clean. Too normal," Jim supposes. Her blue eyes traces over his face. "Especially so with someone of your abilities."

Mitchell stares before huffs out a bitterly amused laugh. "My abilities, she says," he echoes quietly. "Tell me, Captain. Just what do you think you know about my…_abilities_."

"Not as much as I'd like," Jim confesses. "For instance, I don't know how you obtained them."

Mitchell says nothing.

"Or maybe I'm wrong about it," Jim guesses. "Maybe you're more like Smith than I thought." She crosses her arms and looks at him. "Tell me, Mitchell. Do you have a special little friend inside of you?"

Mitchell's lips stretch out into a dark grin. "No, but Smith might've mentioned that she had one that wanted to get inside of _you_."

"What did you say?" Jim hisses.

"Oh it's nothing," Mitchell says nonchalantly. He cracks his neck and smirks again. "I'm sure you'll learn. But enough about that. I'm growing very tired of this whole thing. Either you let me go or you have your Vulcan friend perform a mind-meld on me. Either way, he won't find anything because I've done nothing. Therefore it is not within your right to keep me detained." His smirk grows. "Let's not pretend here. We both know who has the real power. Or hasn't your Admiral made it clear? Me and mine are not to be trifled with. My family has powerful friends."

"I don't give a flying-fuck about your friends," Jim snaps, angry beyond reasoning.

"Oh but you should," Mitchell chirps pleasantly. "After all, they're responsible for outfitting you with this fine vessel, and allowing you to believe that you wield some kind of authority in these intergalactic realms. But I know—oh yes—as do you and your Commander—that we live in a corrupt galaxy full of corrupt beings." He twiddles his fingers upwards as he goes on to say, "Everyone's scrabbling towards the top trying to get a taste of that power. But I know where that power lies—I have witnessed it myself. I have tapped into that deeply dark well and I have to tell you—the bottom is a lot more hollow than you know."

Jim stares at him, mouth tightening and fist clenching.

"You're so concerned with me, you're missing the bigger picture. There is a war coming," Mitchell continues. "Everyone in the galaxy knows, even your precious Federation." He leans forward very carefully. "But my question for you is—which side will you be attached to, Captain Kirk?"

Jim says nothing.

Mitchell grins fully before he leans back in his seat to say, "Why don't you and your First Officer talk? Then you can come back in here, play Captain, and he can perform a meld that will prove my innocence. And then we will all go about our merry little way. I'm sure this tête-à-tête will be the last of its kind concerning me, yes?"

Jim just gets up and storms out of the room before she can allow herself to give into the urge of leaping over that table and pounding his head into the floor. Once she's out in the corridor she breathes shakily and scrubs at her reddening face.

The door whooshes open again and closes. Then she hears a soft, "Captain."

"He's a piece of shit," Jim mutters as she straightens and exhales while she tacks her blue eyes on the lights at the other end of the corridor. She crosses her arms and holds on at the elbows. "He made us look like fools."

"His innocence may be proven true if I can find no ill will in his mind," Spock states, but not without a hint of sympathy. "It is possible that we will have to direct our attentions elsewhere."

Jim gives throaty and bitter laugh. "Yeah. Sure. Let's give him exactly what he fucking wants," she says with a careless wave of her hand.

"There may be no other alternative," Spock remarks evenly. "Furthermore, it would not be beyond us to assume that perhaps there is another among us outside of Mitchell who is to blame."

"Spock," Jim says desperately as she turns toward him. Her blue eyes meet his dark eyed gaze. "I don't want to be sensible about this. But I—I don't know what to do."

Spock considers her, along with her words, very carefully. After two hiccups of silence, he says, "You have once stated that you did not believe in '_no-win scenarios_'."

Jim nods wordlessly.

"Perhaps it is time for you to learn to take defeat, so that you may rise above it and find your success," Spock advises as he tucks his hands behind him.

Jim sighs weakly as her gaze lowers. "I hate when you're reasonable," she says.

"That is illogical. You have stated before that it is my reasoning that qualifies me for my position," Spock replies neutrally. He's not showing it outright but Jim is very suspicious that he may feel very pleased with himself—which, okay, might not entirely be irrational. She's actually going to set her pride aside to follow his advice.

"Right then," Jim sighs and squares her shoulder. "Let's get this over with."

Spock inclines his head and follows her back inside the interrogation room where a smug Mitchell is waiting. Jim curls her hand into a fist at her side and says nothing when Mitchell rises to his feet before Spock and cocks his face so that Spock can perform a meld. She bites her tongue and crosses her arms, trying to clear her mind and think of nothing at all. Minutes of silence pass (Jim tries not to count them) before Spock breaks the meld and steps back. She watches the way his brows furrow in dissatisfaction and feels the bitter slab of defeat slide down her throat and cement in a hard boulder in her stomach.

"Well this was fun," Mitchell says cheerily. He looks so fucking smug. "I'll take my leave then. Dismissed am I, Captain?"

"Yes," Jim grits out and watches as he winks and exits the room. She is left in complete and utter silence with Spock. "Spock?"

"There was nothing," Spock says.

Jim sighs but nods.

Fucking perfect.

888

**STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE**

**HIGH PRIORITY**

**STARDATE 225304.15**

**CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE**

**ADMIRAL BARNETT OF CALIFORNIA, EARTH**

_Admiral Barnett,_

_He put us in a corner. The one try we got and we couldn't get a thing. Attached you will find an initial breakdown and a full report, from both myself and Commander Spock, of the encounter with Mitchell, as well as a vid recording. _

_Regards,  
>James T. Kirk<em>

888

Jim and Spock spend the next two days retracing their footsteps and looking for sources outside of Mitchell. Jim doesn't say it, but she continues to access the vid recording of his interrogation on her own time, trying to find something that would solidify the gut feeling she has that Mitchell isn't all the way on the up and up. But she has a ship to look after so she doesn't allow herself to become so wound up in Mitchell. She doesn't like him anymore than she did before, and it's hard to even have him around, even on their mutual shifts. She wishes she could switch him out like they'd done Uhura, but she knows she would receive some backlash from his _very powerful friends._ He wasn't worth that trouble.

Speaking of backlash—Uhura hasn't been very chummy towards her as of late (and not that she'd ever been before). Not that Jim had expected she ever would, especially so since it's her signature that can be found on the duty roosters that places Uhura on an alternative shift. She's not sure where Uhura stands with Spock, and really it's none of her business, so she doesn't dwell on it. She does, however, help Spock assess a temporary replacement for Uhura as their senior communications officer. Surprisingly, they come across a relative of Uhura's. A female cousin named Kenya who has beautifully dark skin that could rival charcoal, and stunning hazel eyes that sat above two crescent moon scars sliced into both of her cheeks.

"Tribal marks," Kenya had explained cheerily with that thick and endearing Ghanaian accent when Jim had asked. Kenya kept the hair of her head closely shaved, also a tradition, mostly for women who were unmarried and had not bore a child. And she was just as lively as her wide infectious smile and mannerisms were. Jim takes an immediate liking to her and tells Spock that they need to elect her. And when they do, all in all, the ship falls back into peaceful lull.

The third day of their first official mission finds the USS Enterprise drifting above the exosphere of Alpha 177. It also finds Jim in the transporter room on this early morning with a disapproving Bones, and a very excited Leona, Riesa and Jasel (though he's pretending not to be interested). Jim—along with the kids because they were little geological scientists in their own right—mean to travel down with the two away teams (lead by Dr. Cruise with Spock shadowing) conducting the geological survey.

A minute later, Kenya strolls in the room with a wide smile and a cheery attitude. She saddles up beside Jim and says, "I heard you were among the group going down to the surface. So I come to see you off."

"Oh yeah? You know you should come," Jim suggests with a grin.

"Oh no," Kenya laughs. "I have no business with that. But I thank you just the same." She glances over at Bones. "Who is this?"

"Oh, sorry—this is my CMO Leneord McCoy," Jim introduces her scowling friend. "And Bones, this is the gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous woman I mention that not only is Uhura's cousin, replacement and complete opposite—Kenya Achebe."

"Nice to meet you," Kenya smiles.

"Pleasure's all mine," Bones replies and his scowl seems to soften into something considerate.

Jim snickers and bumps her elbow into his side. "She's _single._"

Bones flushes and goes right back to scowling.

Kenya just chuckles and places a hand over her lips modestly.

Jim straps a holster to her small waist, slips in her phaser and communicator (also noting how Bones glares at the action) with a grin. "You know—scowling is not going to keep me on this ship, Bones," she says.

Bones just scowls deeper. "Well you'd be all the wiser for it," he grumps and crosses his arms. "How stable is this planet anyway?"

"Stable enough," Jim supposes. "Look it'll be fine. I'll have Spock with me."

"How comforting," Bones gripes and gives Spock a mean look, which he misses because he's too busy assessing the readiness of their away teams with Dr. Cruise.

"You do not trust the Commander?" Kenya asks curiously.

Bones falters and his expression turns into something sheepish. "No, I've no doubts. But the Commander and I aren't exactly on good terms," he admits.

"Bones keeps a mean grudge," Jim adds.

"Ah, I see," Kenya murmurs softly. "Well, would it not be best to take down some security?"

"Nope. Planet's dead and it's senseless. Besides, I can hold my own," Jim assures as she watches Leona and Riesa drag Jasel up the steps of the transporter pads with enthusiastic impatience. "We're not going to be down there long anyway—temperature's dropping."

Bones whips his gaze at her and stares her down with exasperated eyes.

"It's a steady decline!" Jim promises quickly. God what is it with this man? She can't help but to love him though. "Not immediate. I repeat, not immediate. Right now it's hotter than hell, so a temperature decrease is actually welcomed."

Bones just huffs. "Still don't like it," he mutters. "Something's churning in my gut. Don't know what it is but—"

"So come with us, and you don't have to run yourself into the ground worrying about me," Jim suggests with a grin.

"No thanks, Kid. I'm fine where I am," Bones says. "You just be careful, and mind the kids."

"Munchkins one, two and three will be fine," Jim guarantees with a firm nod before she rubs her index fingers across the arch of her blonde eyebrow. "Stop worrying."

"Can't. Especially when it involves you directly. Don't know what it is about you Jim but somehow you find a way," Bones says with a fond sort of frown.

Jim smiles slowly and says, "I'm a hazard. You had your chance to run three years ago," she points out.

"Yeah and you would've ended up more worse than you are now. Be thankful I didn't," Bones retorts.

"Always," Jim says softly with a private smile.

Bones flushes and shifts uncomfortably. "Jesus, this is getting to sappy for my tastes. You just get back here in one piece and don't you touch a goddamn thing. I mean it, Kid. If I had it my way, I'd send you down in a pair of gloves and a medical mask," he grumbles.

Kenya chuckles at that and Bones smiles a little at her response.

"Whatever. You just do me a favor and keep an eye on my ship for me," Jim says as she walks backwards towards Scotty, who was overseeing the entire proceedings and orchestrating the transports with another transport operator of lower rank. "We good to go, Scotty?" she asks as she leans against the station.

"Aye. Just as soon as you and yours stand on the platform, I can send you down," Scotty confirms as he tweaks and pokes a few buttons here and there. "Yes—that should do it alright."

"Awesome. I'll spread the word," Jim says, perking up and turns to face the rest of the room's occupants. "If I can have everyone's attention for just a moment." All eyes veer in her direction and she smiles slightly. "Those of us in this room, I'm sure, are all aware of what our mission is. Fairly simple—Starfleet has ordered a geological survey of Alpha 177. Now under the surveillance of Dr. Cruise, Command Spock and myself, once we have arrived on the planet's surface, we _will_ be splitting into _two _separate teams. One team goes North and East, while team two goes South and West. Sound fair?"

"Yes, Captain," voices chime simultaneously.

"Very good," Jim says with a smile. "By my estimate, we're leaving with exactly fourteen bodies—and that's exactly the same number I expect to see return aboard this ship no later than 1600. As of now it is currently 0900, which leaves eight hours in between for you to fish around. Understood?"

"Aye Captain!" everyone chimes agreeably.

"Fantastic. Scotty?" Jim says as she turns to her Chief Engineer.

"Right then—who'd like to go first?" Scotty asks and gazes around.

Jim, seeing that the Leona, Riesa and Jasel are anxious, just walks up the steps with quick wave of her hand. She stands beside Jasel and mirrors his stance by tucking her hands behind her back and straightening her spine. Not even a second later, Dr. Cruise and Spock join them on the platform.

Spock says, "Energize."

"Okay—here we go," Scotty pipes, and with the familiar whirrs of the transporter, Jim feels everything within her scramble apart, right down to her molecules, before reconnecting on the very warm surface of Alpha 177. She moves off to the side to join Jasel, Leona and Riesa who are staring up at the blood-tinged sky that reflects enough light against the both yellowed and pale rocks rising from the ground made of thick sand.

"Isn't it interesting, Lady Jim?" Leona comments excitedly.

Riesa adds, "There is no sun, yet the planet is able to stabilize its own temperatures and provide for itself the necessary amount of light."

"It's too new," Jasel frowns. "The larger rocks are just surfacing from the planet's mantle."

"The core is impressively stable nonetheless!" Dr. Cruise chimes, a tricorder in one hand, swooping to and fro like a wand as his other hand wields a PADD, which no doubt has a screen full of readings. "We can learn a lot from this," he goes on to say, voice heavily riddled with that charmingly thick Italian accent. He pauses and looks at the kids for a moment. "Would you like to help me collect samples?"

Leona and Riesa clap merrily as though Christmas had come six times over.

Jasel remains withdrawn in his reactions however, sticking close by Jim but watching his sisters saunter over to Dr. Cruise and accept the set of vials and bags for collecting samples.

"And Jasel, will you be of service to me?" Dr. Cruise asks politely as he offers the young prince a set of excavating tools, rolled up in a thick sac. "There is a certain rock here that has a strong magnetic field around it, which I'm sure to mean that it has come directly from the core. You are smart, I know you'll find no trouble of finding the one."

Jasel nods quietly and accepts the tools.

Dr. Cruise turns to Jim with an apologetic smile. "I am sorry Captain. I have no task for you. I was sworn by your good Doctor and your First Officer to not involve you in any of this."

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to it," Jim says with an exasperated grin.

"As you would be. Now if you'll excuse me, I will join heads with your Commander and we will discuss some things," Dr. Cruise states with a cheery smile and makes his way over to Spock, who happens to be directing the away teams in their assigned routes.

Jim watches them for a moment before steering her attention to her own private company.

Leona and Riesa are collecting samples like frogs, crouching down, scooping up and leaping to another point to do it all over again before they stuff their collections into a brown knapsack they are sharing between them.

Jasel tucks his excavating tools under the crook of his left arm, looking to and fro amidst the horizon. "Is this what you do, Jester?" he asks quite suddenly. "Your title gives you this much freedom?"

"This is part of what I do," Jim confesses as they keep up a leisurely stroll down a declining slope. She keeps a watchful eye of the twins to make sure they don't fall or hurt themselves. But they manage in their own way by holding onto one another. "Other parts include acting as ambassador to set up a reasonable alliance with a newly discovered race or maybe even noticing a problem that they hadn't and taking it upon myself to save them from themselves," she continues. "I think above all else, we learn. Learn all that we can about it all."

Jasel hums thoughtfully.

"And what about you?" Jim says as they go further down the sandy hillside towards fields of more protruding jagged rocks and boulders. "What does your title demand?"

Jasel grins humorlessly, quick and then it vanishes. "That is something I've wondered myself," he admits curtly. "What exactly is expected of a king?"

"Is that what you are?" Jim asks, swiping the back of her hand across the gathering sweat above her brow. It really is uncomfortably warm.

"No," Jasel denies genuinely. "Not even close to it." He sounds almost ashamed and disappointed.

"But one day you might be," Jim supposes and stumbles a bit when the front of her foot dashes against a small rock. She manages to right herself before she goes tumbling down.

"One day I might be many things," Jasel counters and glances over to where his sisters are. They are several meters away, still collecting samples happily as they follow down the decline of the sandy hill. "But no one will ever accuse me of being great."

"You're fantastic by my standards," Jim offers with a sincere smile. "Even more so then."

"I've been utterly horrid to you," Jasel reasons as he looks at her with a frown. He stumbles a bit but he doesn't fall. "And I am not as you say. I'm a pretender. I've no courage. I'm a coward. Laughable, really. They don't say it in my presence but I know there are whispers in my kingdom of how I—" He pauses suddenly with a deeper frown. "Perhaps I shouldn't say. I've probably said too much already."

"Jasel, wait just—" Jim turns and catches him by the shoulders.

"You're b-being too forward," Jasel stutters with a fierce blush. "Unhand me. I have not given you liberty to address me by my name, Jester!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Jim says and removes her hands. "I just think we should take a second and talk about what you mean. Why are you being so down on yourself all of a sudden?"

"Doesn't matter," Jasel replies stubbornly. "I saw the disappointment in your eyes not too long ago. I know it has to do with—the bad dealings that occurred on your ship. I didn't—I haven't been able to do or say much even though I know, I _know _of the evil that slinks in dark corners on your ship. I've felt it's anger—it's hunger. It skates around you, looking for a way in but my sisters and I have afforded you time with protective prayers and seals. I—I am useless and something will happen to you and you will be yet another I have failed to protect."

"Hey, hey—it's okay," Jim assures gently as she notices how watery his eyes are getting.

Jasel just lets a frustrated growl and storms off.

Jim sighs a bit hopelessly and lets him widen the distance. He doesn't go far though. He just chooses to stick close by his sisters. The ground begins to level off and so they don't have to be quite so careful with their footing. Jim just silently watches the three of them go to and fro, examining and touching things as she holds her peace. They all mostly don't go any further than they already have. They walk in circles and silently observe the environment around them. That silence is broken only once in a while when her communicator chirps with the voice of Spock checking up on them. Hours pass and the change of temperature are noticeable almost immediately fifteen minutes before they are scheduled to return to the ship.

The sky is darkening as well.

"It'll be time for us to leave soon, so I advise you all to wrap up your projects," Jim calls out.

Leona and Riesa look disappointed but they nod, as does Jasel. He stops at a boulder and unfolds his tools, getting to work with chipping off a sample. Jim crosses her arms and fidgets a bit, trying to squash down her growing need to pee. But her bladder's protests become harder and harder to ignore and eventually Jim is forced to give in.

"I have to pee! I'll be right over here, or there, somewhere. I'll be close but you guys don't go anywhere until I get back!" she exclaims, making a quick exit in the direction of east. She weaves her way through some rocks before she finds a comfortable spot to lower her guard and relieve her bladder. She sighs in relief as she works to make herself decent again, but frowns when she hears the unmistakable sound of growling. She wraps her fingers over the handle of her phaser and follows the sound deeper into the maze of rocks.

The growl gets deeper and more menacing but Jim can't really see the root of it. She shivers and looks around just a moment longer before deciding to give up altogether. Just as she lowers her hand away from her phaser, something tackles her from behind, sending her careening forward down another sandy slope, and she goes rolling out into a pool of yellow spores. Jim coughs and spits, trying to clear her vision of the yellow. She sits up on her knees and dusts herself off as best as she can before rising to her feet. She ends up hissing and stumbling as she feels the unmistakable sting of a gash on the bottom of her right foot.

Jim hobbles a bit to the nearest rock before she leans her weight against it and pulls the bottom of her foot up in view to assess the damage. The first thing she notices is that there is a jagged rock protruding from the underside of the heel of her boot. She wraps her hand around it and yanks it out, slicing the skin of her palm open because the rock is so sharp. She throws it off to the side and groans when a fountain of blood starts seeping out of, not only her shoe, but down her hand as well.

It hurt, of course it did, but Jim masters pain better than most. She just isn't looking forward to the verbal thrashing Bones was sure to give her. She sighs and clonks the back of her head against the boulder holding her up. Then suddenly, she hears the growl again.

Jim doesn't hesitate to whip out her phaser this time. But instead of some large beast, she's met with a small ball of brown fur and a porcelain horn. "What the hell are you?" she asks. "A unicorn? A dog? A uni-dog?"

The little thing just growls and barks.

"You look like a Pomeranian," Jim says and lowers her gun slowly before putting it away. "You either really were born that way, or your ancestors must have been unicorns and dogs. Now wouldn't that be strange?"

The foreign creature cocks its head.

"So were you the little shit that knocked me down?" Jim asks and watches as it watches her mouth closely, most likely not comprehending her words. "That wasn't very nice of you, Fuzzy. I'm all beat up now."

Fuzzy just barks and shifts his head in the opposite direction. His ears twitch as he growls and begins backing up towards Jim.

"What? What is it now?" Jim mutters as she shifts her blue eyes over to the direction where Fuzzy is growling at. She sees nothing but after a moment or two, the ground begins to shake. Then she spies a glimpse of a huge outline covered in black fur, practically ten times as big as the planet's largest boulders and five times as wide. Jim would almost mistake this beast for a bear, but in actuality, it's just a Godzilla-sized Pomeranian with red eyes, larger horns and huger teeth. Actually it has a huger everything. "Shit, fuck, damn," she stutters.

Fuzzy barks and Jim quickly grabs the thing, using her bloody hand to muzzle him. She hobbles as quickly as she can behind the boulder and crouches down low. A ground shaking growl begins to reverberate through the forest of rocks and is soon followed by a disturbing howl.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it," Jim whispers. She looks down at Fuzzy and says, "Why couldn't you just be the average size? Now come to find out that you're the fucking baby?"

Fuzzy growls and wiggles fiercely in her grip.

Jim shushes it before groping herself for her communicator. When she finds it, she quickly flips it open and whispers, "Kirk to Enterprise."

"Enterprise here," Scotty replies. "But why are you whispering?"

"Shh," Jim hisses and closes her eyes as she hears another sharp howl. When it quiets, she exhales and continues to whisper, "Scotty, I need you to do me a tremendous favor okay?"

"Aye?"

"I want you to beam everyone aboard the ship, now as in _right now_," Jim instructs.

"Well I can do that but you still got a good five minutes to go by," Scotty points out.

"Don't care, just—" Jim pauses and glances around the corner of the rock. She sees nothing. "Just beam everyone aboard now and leave me for last."

Scotty hesitates but eventually responds. "Aye, Captain."

"Kirk out," Jim snaps her communicator shut before tucking it away. She looks down at Fuzzy, who's gone quiet. "I'm guessing that large monster was your momma and she's looking for you. So I'm going to be nice and return you to her. I'll put you down, and you just go on." She sets Fuzzy on the ground.

Fuzzy tromps only a few feet away before stopping and just barking at Jim.

"You little fuck," Jim hisses and tosses a rock at it. "Go away!"

Fuzzy barks.

Jim throws another rock and shoos it off. The ground starts shaking again and a loud growl begins to echo. Jim wastes no time with fumbling to her feet and hobbling in the opposite direction. It gets harder to do when the ground begins rumbling even more with the unmistakable footsteps of Big Momma Fuzzy. But as luck would have it, it's the moment Scotty decides to beam her aboard and out of harms way.

Jim wavers a bit in the blinding light of her own molecules reaffixing and rematerializing themselves in the correct order. The light dims before disappearing altogether and it doesn't take long for her to figure out that something is wrong. Jim frowns at the wide-eyed and shocked stares she receives and fidgets when her uniform feels a little too tight. She looks down to see her chest is completely flat.

Jim's hands fly up to her chest in confusion before they drift up to her face and eventually her hair. "What—the fuck?" she mutters and chokes on her own words when she notices how deeper her voice sounds.

Spock walks up the steps of the transporter platform, dark eyes assessing her quickly. "Fascinating," he says.

"What is?" Jim says with exasperation.

Bones takes that moment to enter the room and clarify with a, "Good God woman! You're a man!"

Jim pales and wavers a bit. She accidently fumbles onto her injured foot causing a sharp and white-hot pain to shoot up her entire leg. She cries out and falls to her knees before falling unconscious.

888

The first thing Jim says when she (no—not she anymore) _he_ regains consciousness is, "I want a mirror."

Bones, being right there at _his_ bedside and continually scanning _him_ from head to toe, hesitates before he nods and goes in search of one.

This leaves _him_ alone with Spock, who stands ramrod straight at _his_ immediate left, watching _him_ with curiously dark eyes. He says nothing otherwise but he does glance down at _his_ injured foot, which is wrapped in white bandages. _He_ doesn't feel it, not even when _he_ struggles to upright _himself_. When _he_ finds a comfortable position, _he_ looks at _his_ hand. The cut across _his_ palm is gone, which means Bones must have used a regenerator to restore the skin.

_Wow this is going to be exhausting thinking of myself as a guy, _Jim muses silently with an ironic grin.

Bones returns but he doesn't immediately hand the mirror over.

Jim rolls his eyes. "Just—I won't pass out again. I'm prepared," he assures.

Bones looks skeptically but he carefully surrenders the mirror.

Jim flips it upright and stares.

Odd. Very odd.

It's more like looking at a stranger—a very _male _stranger.

Jim frowns and watches the masculine features of his face slouch into it. His hair's a lot shorter than it was—still blond though—still thick enough to cover the scar. His eyebrows are thicker and his nose is wider. Also his lips are a lot bigger and full. Well isn't that an injustice? The only thing that seems familiar is his eyes. They are still as blue and as sharp as ever. That's the only thing that feels like it's really _her_. Everything else—well, it's all new.

Jim reaches under the covers and gropes himself unashamedly. "Hm, not bad," he praises with a cocky grin.

Bones rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"I mean—worse to worse, I could've turned out ugly," Jim points out as he turns his head to and fro studying his reflection. "I'm actually a _really _good looking guy if I do say so myself." He smiles at his reflection and rests a hand in the middle of his broad chest. "Hm," he says and looks down at his bare chest and flexes the muscles in his arms. "Well, well, well," he grins as he continues to flex. "I get why you guys do this," he comments.

Nurse Chapel chooses that moment to make an appearance and hand Jim a fresh cup of water.

Jim grins, flexing a little more and says, "What do you think?"

Nurse Chapel takes a moment to really consider Jim before she replies, "I liked you just fine how you were before." Then she pauses before leaning in and lowering her voice, she whispers, "But this certainly isn't a bad improvement either." She runs a hand down Jim's broad chest. Bold move. "Offer still stands, you know. I'll be more than happy to help you sort everything out." She pulls back and walks away without a backwards glance.

Jim shifts and clears his throat quickly. He might actually be developing his first hard-on. How exactly did guys keep that under control?

"What was that all about?" Bones asks with a raised brow.

Spock lifts an inquiring eyebrow as well.

"Nothing," Jim lies, and his voice splits into two different pitches and it's the weirdest thing. He clears his throat. "Now is this permanent or what? How did this even happen?"

"As far as I can tell it's not," Bones admits. "Apparently you were exposed to some magnetic ore that, with the help of that damnable transporter, scrambled your DNA and your hormones and rewired you from the inside out. I'm guessing that lovely gash on your foot and the cut on your hand are the doorways that let the little yellow menace in and screw everything up."

"You found it in my blood work didn't you?" Jim asks with a wince.

"Just be glad that it'll circulate out of your system by the end of this month without leaving or causing anymore repercussions in its wake," Bones explains with a solemn scowl. "Now just how the hell did you manage all this anyway?"

Jim quickly outlines the story for them.

Bones scoffs. "Only you, Kid. Only you," he mutters with a fond shake of his head.

Jim shrugs in a '_what can you do_' kind of way.

"Your foot should mend itself by the end of the week with the help of this ointment." Bones plops down a white tube in his hands. "Until then, try and stay off of it as much as you can."

"Got it—no marathons," Jim says in mock seriousness. He carefully slides to the edge of the biobed before standing. "So I'm free to go?" He doesn't wait for an answer; he just walks over to the other end of the room where there is a black (male) uniform waiting for him.

Bones open his mouth but Spock interjects, "Doctor—you are sure that the Captain is of optimal health?"

"Sure as sure. I've run the tests a dozen times over. Not much I can do for her at this point. Hell, if she wasn't allergic to penicillin I would've spoon-fed it to her to speed along the process and get her back to the way she was by morning," Bones admits with a frown. "But Jimmy is a special peach and so I've gotta let her body do what its wants on its own."

"Awe, Bones! You think I'm a special peach?" Jim crows from behind a medical curtain as he shoves himself in his uniform.

"That ain't a compliment, Kid!" Bones snaps sourly.

Jim pouts. Spoilsport.

"Now do you see why I asked you not to let her out of your sight?" Bones grumps at Spock before stomping off and attending to his other patients.

Jim (now fully dressed) exhales and runs his hands down his chest to smooth out his uniform, making his way towards the exit with a nod at Spock. "See you later, Bones!" he calls.

"And no sooner!" Bones demands in utter seriousness.

Jim just chuckles and exits the sickbay. "I am starving. Seriously, I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks. What's that all about?" he wonders aloud.

"The increase and change of hormones your body has undergone has elevated your metabolism which in turn has increased your appetite tenfold," Spock explains in that lecturing tone of his.

"Okay, that I can see," Jim agrees and just beams when his crew tosses him startled and confused looks. "What time is it? Where are the kids?"

"The current time is 1832. And Dr. Cruise volunteered his time and escorted the children to the Mess Hall once Doctor McCoy assured them of your well-being," Spock states.

"That's convenient for me," Jim mutters as they enter the turbolift and descend a few levels. A moment later, they wind up in the Mess Hall. After Jim spots the kids, he gets to work with filling his tray with several dishes of food and joins them.

Spock accepts the invitation to join them and immediately engages in a conversation with Dr. Cruise about their findings.

Jim graces Jasel, Leona and Riesa with a quick smile before he gets to work with devouring his food. He receives all manner of curious stares from the Mess Hall's company.

"Lady Jim?" Riesa says shyly.

"It's _Lord_ now," Jasel says with a humored smirk.

"Does it hurt?" Leona asks as she pokes Jim's cheek. "You made a cry as if it did."

"M'fine," Jim mutters, mouth full of brown rice and broccoli and French fries and green jello.

"Ugh, I see your appalling manners haven't changed," Jasel notes with a disgusted twist of his nose.

Jim just smiles at him and carries on eating.

"She's so quiet," Riesa observes.

"Her food is bewitching her. She's never been this enthusiastic about eating," Leona deducts and leans her head in her hand as she continues to watch Jim.

Riesa does too and even Jasel seems unable to resist watching.

Dr. Cruise pauses his conversation with Spock for a moment to observe his captain. He laughs and amusedly says, "Ah to be young with such an appetite. I can almost remember it well."

Jim nods but keeps his head low and continues to shovel food into his mouth.

"But perhaps Commander, you should warn our Captain of the repercussions of over-indulgence," Dr. Cruise suggests as his handsome face slouches in a concerned frown. "I've not seen her breathe yet."

Spock also studies Jim with a frown. "Dr. Cruise is correct, Captain. You should ease yourself into this transition."

Jim stops suddenly and makes a pained face.

Everyone watches him closely.

Then suddenly, Jim lets out an alarming long and obnoxious belch.

Leona and Riesa laugh, as do a handful of others in the Mess Hall before a series of clapping breaks out.

Jim chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck before he stands and gives a showy bow and wave. The clapping and laughter dies down and Jim plops down in his seat and pushes his tray full of empty dishes away.

"I think that's the most I've ever eaten in a lifetime," he admits and eyes the tray with a thoughtful look.

"Ah, yes, women don't normally indulge as much as we do," Dr. Cruise says with twinkling eyes. "I do feel this experience will be good for you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Buona notte e buona sorte a voi!"

Leona and Riesa wave happily as Jasel inclines his head in a silent farewell.

"Commander Spock, we will be in touch," Dr. Cruise says before going off. He almost bumps into a sprinting Chekov but manages to avoid it.

Chekov spouts a few apologies before he turns his frantic gaze over the Mess Hall. He spots some familiar faces and dashes over to Commander Spock. "Commander! I have news! Where is the Keptin? She must see this too," he exclaims.

"I'm right here, Chekov," Jim says with a rueful grin.

Chekov's eyes widen. "_Yomayo!_" he exclaims. "Keptin? I—was hearing rumors but—ah they are true!"

"Yes in this case they are," Jim acknowledges. "What have you got for us?"

"Ah yes," Chekov says, refocusing his attention as he reveals his PADD. "Is news report. Something has happened on Earth." He sets his PADD face-up in the middle of the table and opens up an application that caters to viewing the news in real time.

Jim frowns and leans forward—as does everyone else.

Chekov increases the volume.

A petite woman with fire engine red curls stands outside on the streets of the almost completely destroyed marble ruins of the Federation Supreme Court. "—_amidst reports of a premeditated attack against Earth led by what many believe were a group of Romulan extremists, joined with a pair of Klingons. Again, we are just now getting words that the bodies are still being recovered from piles of rubble and wreckage. They haven't been identified but many people are aware that some of council's more important members were convening together to discuss Earth's possible stance with Romulan and Klingon empires. Earlier this week President Sanara Dadari made a direct statement in regards to peace dealings with the Romulan Empire._"

The screen switches to a conference room full of reporters and President Sanara Dadari is at the front of it all behind a podium with the Federation Seal. She glances down and says, "_I would like to take the time to let it be known that I, as well as many others of the Federation Council, the collective members of the Vulcan race, along with Starfleet, do not hold the Romulan Empire accountable for the bad tidings brought upon us and towards us by Nero. He has made a clear indication that he stood apart as a nonnegotiable war criminal. So I will go a step further by saying we absolutely are open to the possibility of reaffirming our treaties and dealings of peace with the Romulan Empire, should they have us. As always, at this point we are just contemplating over ways of how to do such._"

The screen switches back to the redhead. "_As you can see, an attack such as this is not only jolting to the general public but also alarmingly confusing. Thomas?_"

The screen switches to a news studio with a white haired man with a pristine suite and milky white teeth. "_This is certainly unsettling. Joining me now, via vid conference from his home in San Francisco, I have Professor Hurst, who not only teaches but specializes in understanding war from every viewpoint. Professor Hurst, what have you to say about all this? **Is** this a clear indication of war? And if so, by who?_"

In a square above the anchormen's shoulder is a surly looking man with thick-framed glasses and an unshaven face. There is an awkward pause before he attempts to speak, "_Well Tom, I can certainly speculate as I have been for the last thirty odd years about what is going on._" He pauses to let out a humorless chuckle as he readjusts his frames. "_Uh you know—I would have to say I wasn't surprised by this attack. And though I wish I could say more, I have those that would not take so kindly to me saying all that I know. They would call me crazy, foolish and all manner of insults to decrease my credibility when in truth I know exactly what I'm talking about. And honestly I think the general public doesn't need me to say it either because the evidence, Tom, the evidence is right in front of their faces._" He adjusts his glasses again. "_I tell my students all the time that war is, was and never will be something that just springs on a certain race or empire. The day we are surprised and baffled by an attack like this is a day that saddens me because we should never be so shocked. Fact of the matter is that there were omens preluding to the event and we choose to keep our eyes averted and our ears shut until we are forced to pay attention. You think we're at peace? You think all is well—but evidence continues to show us the contrary. The last thing I'm gonna say about this and then I wont say anymore is that if you think this the last attack of its kind then you're sorely mistaken. Starfleet along with the Federation are fully aware of what they have to do but they refuse to do it. Why? Because it requires the backing of the general public and specific funding._"

The anchormen nods with a solemn frown. "_Wow, truly insightful. Thank you Professor Hurst. We're going to take you back to the Federation Supreme Court where just hours ago a horrendous attack has taken place and for those of you just joining us—authorities are merely speculating on what type of weapon or device was used to nearly eradicate the interior of the Supreme Court. We have, Delilah, our onsite reporter keeping us updated. Delilah?"_

The red-haired reporter answers, "_Yes, Tom. The body count it seems just continues to spike and so far only **human** bodies are being identified—"_

Jim can't stand to hear anymore. He jumps to his feet and storms out of the Mess Hall, barking out a quick, "Don't follow me!"

Jim curses under his breath and tries to keep his temper under control, but it seems that his change of anatomy makes that very hard to do. So he counts to ten as he enters the turbolift and lets it escalate until it stops on the right level. When the door whooshes open, Jim doesn't waste anytime striding down the hall and stopping in front of a door. He uses his override code and enters without warning, taking Mitchell by the front of his shirt and pulling him off a half-naked woman Jim vaguely recognizes.

Jim slams Mitchell into his dresser as his companion shouts in alarm. "Leave!" he orders.

The woman grabs her clothes and stumbles out into the corridor, leaving them alone.

"Alright Mitchell talk. What do you know?" Jim demands once the door whooshes close, solidifying their privacy.

Mitchell smirks slowly. "I'm sorry—have we met?" he asks instead.

Jim growls and slams him into the dresser again. "Don't act cute. There was an attack at the Federation Supreme Court and my gut's telling me you know something," he growls.

"A little breathing room please, _Captain_," Mitchell calmly says.

Jim glares at him before he backs off and puts several steps of space between them. He ignores the ache in his injured foot.

"So something's happened has it?" Mitchell goes on to say in a completely and utterly frustrating conversational tone. He turns and approaches his replicator. "May I tempt you with a drink?"

"No," Jim snaps and watches Mitchell closely.

Mitchell just smirks wordlessly and grabs a glass for himself as he replicates some kind of clear fizzy liquid. Most likely soda. "Tell me, Captain. What makes you so sure I know something? Not that I'm not flattered that I am continually the center of your speculation—but I do wonder."

"It might have to do with that comment you made about war," Jim clarifies impatiently as Mitchell makes himself comfortable in his chair behind his work desk. "And now it's all that's being said and discussed on the universal news."

"Is it? Shame that," Mitchells tsks as he lifts his glass to his lips. "Well since you've made the effort to come and ask me my thoughts on the matter, I'll do you justice by giving you a bit of advice. Maybe you shouldn't be interrogating me—instead you should be asking those darling children of yours." He lowers his green eyes to the rim of his glass. "Need I remind you just where we found them?"

"And what makes you so sure that they have the answers I'm looking for?" Jim counters as he clenches his hand into a fist.

"Oh, I don't know. Blame my…_abilities_," Mitchell remarks with a sly grin. "And also to the fact that I pay attention. As do you. We've all made our theories haven't we?"

"What are you playing at?" Jim asks.

"Nothing," Mitchell laughs. "I'm not the bad guy. The sooner you figure that out, the better for all us."

Jim says nothing. He just turns to leave.

"I must say, this new look suits you, Captain," Mitchell taunts just as Jim exits out his door.

888

Jim is in a terrible mood. He shoulders this impossibly bad mood, and rather than returning to his quarters and inflicting the children with it, he decides to stow himself away in one of the ship's observation lounges. He isn't sure which one this is and he doesn't particularly care. He just sits in the dark facing the bay window that gifts Jim with the sight of the darkened planet of Alpha 177. His mind is a mess of unorganized thoughts, causing his need to sulk in silence to grow beyond reason.

This is how Spock finds him.

"No offense, Spock, but I'm not exactly looking for company right now," Jim mutters as he hunches further in his seat.

"I do not mean to disturb you, but my father is rather insistent that we speak with him," Spock says.

Jim feels his mouth tighten unhappily but he sits up with a nod. "Computer, lights to seventy percent."

The lounge becomes a lot more visible.

Jim carefully stands to his feet, mindful of his injury, and ventures over to the view screen that sits against the bulkhead on the other end of the lounge. Spock joins him (keeping a safe distance between them) just as he boots up the screen and sends out a connection.

Sarek appears on the screen some seconds later, holding his hand up in the standard Vulcan greeting but his eyes immediately tack onto Jim.

"Sarek," Jim greets sullenly.

"James," Sarek returns, dark eyes colored with concern as his brows furrow. "Is this another result of your allergic reactions?"

"Uh, no. This is—actually something different altogether," Jim explains and rubs the back of his neck.

"Yes, so my son has said," Sarek murmurs thoughtfully. "May I be so bold as to assume you have heard the events that transpired on this day at the Federation's Supreme Court."

"We have been enlightened to the situation by one of our personnel," Spock answers.

Jim says nothing of it. It only reminds him of why he was sulking in the first place. He chooses to just watch the exchange between Sarek and Spock with a bit of curiosity.

"It is most disconcerting," Sarek states evenly. "I wonder if it would be remiss of me to lay the blame with the Romulans. I sense we have come to a time where they may no longer be reasoned with."

"I too share this opinion," Spock confesses. "I doubt, however, Starfleet, as well as the Federation, will come to a firm stance on the matter until it is too late."

"Yes," Sarek agrees. "This is why I have taken it upon myself, along with the aid of your older counterpart, to quickly sort out a suitable home for our people so we may extract ourselves from the mounting tension."

Spock frowns as does Jim. He says, "Father—you mean to—"

"We have no place in the midst of these things," Sarek states firmly. "Perhaps in times pass when our numbers were far greater we could have offered our allegiance, but this is not so now."

Jim feels his frown deepen.

"I see," Spock merely says, with no inflection whatsoever. It's hard to tell what he's thinking—his face is completely free of any expression. "You will not begrudge me if I should—"

"I would not," Sarek interjects. His gaze flickers over to Jim and then back. "I've long since known where you would stand."

"You are assuming too much," Spock says distantly.

"I am not," Sarek disagrees, meeting his stubborn son's unwavering glare. There is a moment where he turns his gaze away to just silently observe Jim considerably. "James—what is the matter?"

"Nothing," Jim denies and tries to straighten out the frown on his face.

"Deceit is unbecoming," Sarek says disapprovingly. "I would not ask unless I knew without doubt my son would refuse to do so."

"Father—" Spock sounds affronted.

"Quiet yourself," Sarek says and cuts Spock with a sharp gaze that silences him. "Speak your mind," he says as he looks back towards Jim.

Jim hesitates for a long while but Sarek waits patiently. "I don't know," he finally says. "I don't know because there are many things that feel wrong."

"This is to be expected, however, you are more than suited to your position," Sarek states informally. "You need only to give yourself time to find the solutions you seek. Not all things can be found within an immediate interval."

Jim nods wordlessly.

"I also surmise that this—transformation has taken its toll on you. Not only physically but emotionally," Sarek deducts. "Allow yourself time to adjust."

"I don't have _delicate sensibilities_," Jim says suddenly, feeling very aggrieved by Sarek's coddling.

Sarek's dark eyes look somewhat amused.

"I don't," Jim repeats insistently.

"Very well," Sarek states.

Jim doesn't believe that he really means that for a second.

"You have discussed the bond?" Sarek questions and sweeps his gaze between them.

When Spock makes no move to reply, Jim does, "Yes. But not exactly in the way we might have wanted. And I would have appreciated some warning." He gives Sarek a meaningful look that does not go unnoticed.

"I did not wish to intrude," Sarek says cordially.

"Really?" Jim counters skeptically.

"The hour grows late. I require meditation," Sarek says instead. "It would be wise for you to seek rest, James. Let your mind untroubled. Spock—do not take everything to heart. I only mean well."

Spock's brows furrow but his shoulders relax.

"I trust you will come to the right end of things," Sarek goes on to say before he lifts his hand. "I suspect I will be in communication with the two of you soon?"

Jim nods.

"Indeed. Peace and long life," Sarek says.

Spock mirrors the gesture. "And to you as well, father."

Jim gives a weak wave and the view screen goes blank. Five hiccups of silence pass before he says, "Did you mean that?"

Spock glances at him with a raised brow.

"About—sticking with us. If worst comes to worst," Jim elaborates.

"Yes," Spock replies.

"You know I don't think anyone would blame you if you decided to step outside of things and join your people," Jim remarks. "I certainly wouldn't," he adds quietly.

Spock inclines his head before he redirects his gaze forward. "There have been many times where I had to decide which path to take," he notes. "But I believe it will always be my choice to make, and I sense that it would be remiss of me if I did not do all that I could to save the planet that at one time was home to my mother."

"Also understandable," Jim murmurs.

"If you will excuse me, Captain, I require meditation as well." Spock turns to exit, but pauses in the doorway to announce, "Captain, concerning our wager—I believe the odds still remain in my favor." Then he leaves Jim alone.

Jim hums begrudgingly. Well that certainly wouldn't do. He squares his shoulders and decides to make a few rounds down in the lower levels of the ship. There are always errors to be found there. Because if Jim is anything—male or female—it's competitive.

888

**Author's Note: **_Okay, so I realize it has been a loooong time since I updated. I just want to take a moment to really say how grateful I am to all my readers for your encouragement and patience. I especially want to thank GUEST, who badgered me but reminded me that this little thing had a purpose. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and it would do my heart good to know what ya'll think. Please comment._


	11. Chapter 12

**Chapter 2**

Piiiiing. Piiiiing. Piiiiing.

_"Warning. Warning. All system's shutting down."_

Piiiiing. Piiiiing. Piiiiing.

"_Imminent system and engine failure commencing in three minutes. Emergency power miscarried. All power forwarded to shields in gridlock."_

**_Six Days Earlier_**

Two weeks.

Two weeks and Jim is still unused to being a guy.

He finds that he is constantly in a downtrodden mood. He's always hungry, and tetchy. He's becoming less and less social, and while it aids him in his little bet with Spock over his lacking disciplinary methods, it doesn't bode so well for his junior crew. Mostly because Jim is now unhesitant and unrepentant when it comes to correcting their errors, much to their anguish. In fact, you could almost say that Jim's chastisement is beginning to border on totalitarian—which, again, does nothing good for morale. As if Jim wasn't already at odds with the ship's company before. Bones says that his fluctuating mood swings are because he isn't used to dealing with male hormones and everything that comes with the territory. And the only upside to this whole craziness is that Spock seems to be able to tolerate him all the more nowadays sense his gender switch. There's a tiny, still female part in Jim that feels like he should be affronted his First Officer's altered behavior. But he won't because he feels like that would be petty and he could be misreading things. His logic these days is unnecessarily tainted by all the testosterone.

There's not much word from Starfleet during those two weeks. It's not at all surprising, seeing as how the Federation Supreme Court had been attacked by unknown friendlies. That tension is far reaching, and Jim can definitely feel it on his own ship. Everyone is worried and confused, and the news reports aren't making things better because all they're doing is making wild speculations about the attacks and the possibility of future attacks. Jim's been doing some research himself in his own time. His conclusions are resting on an unsavory alliance that's seemed to develop between the Romulans and the Klingons. Its good for them in numbers, and bad for Starfleet in so many ways.

Jim has a sneaking suspicion that the Romulans and the Klingons are banding together to recruit more enemies in a campaign against the Federation. But for what purpose exactly? It's nothing obvious, that's for sure. If it was, Jim would have been on top of that a long time ago. But there's no way he can confront any of the admirals about it because they're all busy trying to clear this mess up and do damage control. Admiral Barnett has been rooted out as the public spokesmen for both Starfleet and the Federation, and he's virtually unreachable because of it.

So that's just it then.

Jim and her crew have been sailing leisurely in a deadlock through the stars with no direct coordinates and no official mission directives. Jim's not the only one feeling antsy about it. The tension on the Enterprise is so thick that it's hardly inescapable. The only one who seems to be at ease is Mitchell—much to Jim's displeasure. He's all smug smiles and cocky grins and carefree struts. There's a gleam in his green eyes that says he knows a lot about what's going on. It's making Jim sick and very nearly ready to pounce him to beat the ever-living crap out of him.

"We need shore leave," Bones comments casually one day as Jim sits down obediently for his daily checkup. He's waving his medical wand around Jim's aching head.

"Bones—" Jim starts with a sigh.

"Don't even," Bones interjects quickly, taking a moment to pause from studying his readings to look Jim in the eye sternly. "Every day you're in here and I read nothing but stress-ridden levels on your charts. You're on the verge of a meltdown and you need to get out of this tin can for a while. Hell, we _all _could use a little fresh air. You're not the only one down here asking for sleep aids and headache relievers. The whole goddamn ship is wound tight and I don't know how much longer I can keep going myself."

"But—"

"Look I know you want to keep and eye on things, especially since you lost someone. But Jim that was two weeks ago and nothing, besides the fact that you've developed a penis, has happened," Bones continues, ignoring Jim's exasperated expression. "And you sure aren't helping the morale by loomin' over everyone's shoulder, sucker punching all the juniors with demerits because of this and that—and just what the hell has gotten into you suddenly? I've never seen you chastise a lower rank so much in my entire time of knowin' you!"

"Spock said—"

"Oh, of course. Spock said. Spock _said—_so naturally we must all fall in line," Bones grumbles darkly as he stabs Jim in the neck with a pain reliever.

Jim jumps with a startled yelp. "You fucker!"

"Quit whining. You're headache's gone ain't it?" Bones quips with an evil smile. He turns serious again. "We've been roamin' around for a good four months now—we're reaching the middle of May in two days. I think we're due for a break anyhow. As your doctor and your friend—I advise you to let up on everyone and take them somewhere they can relax and call home to their friends and families while _not _lookin' like their testosterone-ridden Captain isn't running them through the floors."

Jim's mouth sags into a grim curve. He wants to punch Bones in the throat because he knows that everything his CMO has said is true. "I'll talk to Spock," he mutters reluctantly.

Bones smiles a true smile this time as he claps Jim over the shoulder. "Good. You do that, Jimmy. And I even have a place in mind," he admits. "But first, let me see your foot. You put the cream on there like I told you?"

Jim gives a moody shrug.

Bones rolls his eyes. "You know no one will be happier than I when you shift back. Jesus, you're even more stubborn than usual—"

"Just shut up and do the thing so I can go."

Bones chuckles darkly but he does the thing.

Jim actually hates when Bones does the thing because there is another painful hypo involved.

888

"I agree with the Doctor," Spock says when Jim broaches the subject after they discuss the physical state of the ship in Spock's room while the kids poke and prod at his blossomed plant. Jim takes a moment to wonder why Spock hasn't even noticed it yet. "I have, as well, deciphered the meticulous temper patterns of the ship's company and their response to recent events. They are below the average of what one could consider acceptable resulting in a sixty-two percent drop in efficiency."

Jim frowns and says, "You keep averages on our emotions?"

"It is necessary," Spock responds in kind as though it is just another normal function of his job.

"Yeah, sure," Jim says with a skeptical tone. "For a robot maybe, but Spock—come on, we know you're not a robot."

"There are many that would disagree," Spock states simply as his dark eyes pin Jim to his chair. "Doctor McCoy would be among them—as well as Uhura it seems."

"You guys still not getting along?" Jim questions with genuine sympathy. He _had_ noticed the way in which Uhura would surpass them in the corridors as if they happened to cross paths with her. She had a very sour thundercloud hanging over her head that hadn't improved at all since her shift switch. "You know, you're going to have to do something about that soon. Make amends, I mean. She will be returning to her regular shifts in about a week's time. I, for one, would like things to remain pleasantly relaxed on my bridge."

"You believe that I was in the wrong?"

"I never said that. I just mean that—I don't know—for things to be good you have to be progressive. Communication is always progressive."

"I have said everything necessary concerning the matter," Spock says as he deftly avoids Jim's eyes. "Nyota has made it clear that she will confront me when she is ready."

"So what?" Jim says with a shrug. "She probably actually wants you to take control for once and like—I don't know—do that whole male dominance thing."

Spock lifts his eyebrow questioningly. "You are suggesting that a female of her caliber would respond to such behavior," he notes in that intellectually neutral tone of his.

Jim snorts and says, "Oh yeah—she'll eat it up. Sometimes a woman doesn't want to take control all the time. Sometimes she just wants the control taken from her. It shows a sign of trust on her part. You just be careful not to be a misogynistic asshole about it. Just like—pay attention to her needs and stuff."

"And stuff," Spock quotes verbatim with that bland tone of his as his brow furrows thoughtfully. "Captain, I must ask—is the advice you're giving based solely from personal experience?"

Jim's face goes up in flames and he glares murderously at Spock. "Don't make that kind of assumption, Commander."

Spock looks amusedly curious and it's annoys the hell out of Jim. "Captain, your flush indicates—"

"You shut you're filthy Vulcan mouth or I'll tell your dad something or another, I don't care, I'll make anything up!" Jim warns and quickly changes topics while Spock stays bemusedly silent. "I haven't contacted Smith's sister yet, but I plan on doing that. I might even question her about some things—see if she has anymore information that could help."

"That would be wise."

"Have you been able to get into contact with Admiral Barnett?"

"I have not."

Jim sighs and runs his hands through the soft tufts of his hair. "I'm really anxious to know what's going on. It's just a bunch of recycled propaganda on the news about forgiveness and intergalactic peace. I think we both know that this is far from what the Romulans and the Klingons want."

"Undeniably. But perhaps the talks of peace and forgiveness is, in itself, a defense mechanism," Spock proposes. "Should our enemies be monitoring our broadcasting systems in hope to view our reactions to their blatant attack, they would be deliberately fooled. It would give the Federation, as well as Starfleet, the advantage."

"Hit them with a war they wanted but didn't see coming," Jim says faintly with a strong stab of realization. "They're making preparations!"

"Indeed," Spock confirms. "When the time is right, the Federation will call all ships to arms and we will be given the commission to strike."

"Sneaky," Jim says with barely concealed awe. "Who thought that up, I wonder?"

"My father may have made such a suggestion, with the backing of my older counterpart, during the last meeting between the Federation and the remaining Vulcan council," Spock casually insinuates.

Both of Jim's eyebrows shoot up. "And you just now mentioning this to me? Wait—how did _you _find this out? Never mind. Dumb question." He sighs and shakes his head. "I'm _so _talking to Sarek about this."

"I believe he is expecting it," Spock remarks, unhelpfully.

"Bones suggests that we swing by Risa," Jim mentions, changing subjects abruptly again. "They've got a few seasonal festivities happening around this time of the year that he spoke praises of. Something called the '_Festival of the Moon_'. He said our crew would really appreciate it. It'll be a good way to spend two days."

"I am familiar with the planet and it's attractions," Spock simply states. "It is a most fascinating culture and the Risians are peaceful. This meets all crucial requirements for shore leave."

"Well, glad you approve," Jim says, just shy of sarcastic. He's beginning to feel antsy again. It's been happening a lot lately ever since the gender switch. He has a hard time staying rooted to one spot. "Do me a favor and send the coordinates to the bridge. The sooner we get there, the faster our crew can let out a little sigh of relief for the time being. Oh and by the way—I win."

"Indeed, you have been most adamant in the measures of your discipline," Spock compliments vaguely and Jim finds it so strange because for some reason he expected some sort of debate. Spock's been like that lately for some reason—so, like, _agreeable_. Its kind of freaking Jim out.

It's like a bad omen.

"Right, um, well. Good." Jim frowns. "So, yeah, you can go ahead and send that notification ahead."

Spock inclines his head in acknowledgement and navigates his pale hands over his PADD.

Jim stands to join Jasel, Riesa and Leona. He pretends not to notice the way Spock watches the interaction with a mild show of curiosity and—something like considerate calculation. It's almost alarming these days how well Jim is able to read his stoic First Officer the more and more. Or maybe it isn't at all because at least he can recognize the fact that Spock is very much up to something. What that was, Jim wasn't sure. But it couldn't be anything too disturbing.

Right?

888

Three days after the announcement of a shore leave (much to everyone's pleasure apparently) they arrive at Risa on a Thursday morning. The whole ship's abuzz with excitement and positive energy. Jim's beginning to see what both Spock and Bones mean. Their attitudes are considerately different from before. This shore leave may turn out to be a good thing after all.

Jasel, Riesa and Leona are pretty excited. Jim took the time to show them through a virtual interface on his PADD what Risa had to offer. They wanted to go swimming and Jim was fine with that. He was pretty good on a surfboard too—well his female counterpart was—he's not sure if he could say the same now. So he replicates a pair of swimwear for the kids and dresses himself casually. He doesn't plan on swimming this time. He packs a beach bag with small buckets and shovels and sunscreen.

But interestingly enough, it doesn't seem to matter, because fifteen minutes before they even step out of Jim's doorway, Uhura appears with Spock, and their both dressed for the beach. She's in a lava orange dress that falls all the way down to her sandaled feet and white painted toe nails. She has on a matching hat that sits on top of her nicely curled hair. She has a large white beach bag over her right shoulder as her free hand holds a pair of brown sunglasses. Spock, who has clearly been dressed by Uhura, is sporting an all black getup (black swim trunks with a matching black t-shirt). To say that Jim is mildly confused and suspicious, is putting things lightly.

"Captain, if I may have a moment of your time?" Uhura asks, as polite as can be. She glances to Spock for, what looks like reassurance, before he gaze returns to him.

"Uh—sure," Jim says with barely concealed hesitation.

"Spock's going to stand in the hall with kids," Uhura ensures as she steps through the threshold and Jim steps back to let her in and the kids out.

Riesa and Leona excitedly engage Spock in a conversation about his ears once again (their favorite subject to discuss with the patient Vulcan) while Jasel just lingers with them and rolls his eyes as his sisters' behavior.

The door slides shut and Uhura and Jim are left alone.

Uhura clears her throat and straighten her spine. "Look I'm just going to get this out there because honesty is good," she starts. "What I said—how I acted was unacceptable and you had every right to punish me the way you did. I could have approached things a lot better than I did and the things I said to you were beyond disrespectful and I just want you to know that I am sorry for having said them. It was—very immature and I'm not looking to be petty or hold a grudge."

"It's okay," Jim says.

"No, Captain Kirk—it's really not," Uhura says—she looks a little ashamed and frustrated. "You're good, Kirk. So good. You _embody _good. And I don't have that level of toleration and forgiveness that you do. Which is why we're in this mess in the first place." She adjusts the strap of her bag on her shoulder. "I just—I don't really see how you can be so forgiving so quickly and all the time."

Jim smiles a little self-deprecatingly. "That's not exactly true," he mutters. "If it was I'd probably have a better relationship with my mother, and her drunken sloth of a brother. I probably would even still hold some sympathy to Nero—but I can't. I wont. So I'm not all that forgiving and tolerant. And I make my fair share of mistakes just like anyone else."

"Now see," Uhura starts. "That. That right there is understandable. What I did isn't even in that same area."

"I do understand why it happened the way it happened. If I was in your position—"

"Don't," Uhura warns softly. "Don't sympathize with me. I really don't deserve that. I just—I came here to assure you that any issues Spock and I have will be kept between us." She takes a moment to sigh. "I'm still not completely comfortable with the bond and everything, but I know that it's going to take time for anything to be right with that. But I am willing. And I know that I can't blame you for how it happened. Spock—older Spock," she corrects. "He and I discussed some things and he made me understand. I do understand. Really."

"I'm not trying to take him from you," Jim reassures and Uhura gives him a measured look that says she doesn't think that anymore. "I would like to be able to work with him, yes. And I would like for us to one day call each other friend. But I don't see that happening anytime soon. I've never wanted anything more than that."

Uhura watches him for a long moment before her eyes lower thoughtfully. "Captain—" she starts but then hesitates. She clears her throat and straightens her shoulders into something more confident and dignified. "Jim. I—and please don't tell Spock I said this. But if things don't end up working out between us then—I'm glad he'll have you."

"Stop that," Jim chastises gently. "This isn't a competition. This never had to be a competition between us. Nyota, I respect the hell out of you. You're beautiful and smart and phenomenal in more ways then I can name. Spock is the one that's lucky. Because despite everything that's happened between us, I still would like to have sex with you. Or do you not recall the night I tried to hit on you."

Uhura chokes on a shocked but flattered laugh. "You're trying to hit on me now!" she accuses.

"Well yeah. A minute ago I was working out a way to ask you to lift up your dress so I can see the bikini I know you have to be wearing," Jim admits and laughs as he tries to dodge her sporadic swings. "Hey, no assaulting your captain. I don't care if I'm a guy."

"Unbelievable," Uhura mutters with a shake of her head and an eye roll, but she's also sporting a begrudged smile. "Look—Spock and I were talking and we both think you deserve a day off. So we've decided to take the munchkins off your hands and to Temtibi Lagoon. The waters there are absolutely perfect, and the sands are gorgeous as well. Or so I hear."

"Uh—" Jim stammers as he tries to comprehend Uhura's gesture of goodwill. "Yeah, I mean, as long as they're okay with it."

"They already know. Spock would have told them a day or so ago."

"What? Really?" Jim makes a face. "You know I'm happy you two have worked things out but I don't think I'm comfortable with this whole cute couple conniving-ness."

Uhura gives a cutting smile and looks at Jim beneath her darkly full lashes.

"So are we friends now, or what?" Jim asks as they exit his quarters.

"With me, sure." Uhura gives Jasel, Leona and Riesa the thumbs up and the twins give an excited shout. She grins at Spock, who then furrows his brow in question. "Have a good shore leave, Captain," she says with a graceful wave as she leads the children away, leaving Jim alone with Spock.

"Yeah, you all too," Jim says as he keeps his eyes narrowed on Spock. When Uhura and the kids are out of sight, he says, "I knew you were up to something."

"I am unable to comprehend your meaning, Jim," Spock replies coolly.

"Oh and now you use my first name!" Jim crows, pointing an accusing finger. "Look Uhura may not know what's going on but I get it. And I have to say, good job. Looks like you took my advice after all. Patched things up really nicely, did you?" He shakes his eyebrows suggestively.

"Doctor McCoy requested that I inform you that he will be awaiting your company in the Transporter Room," Spock says with obvious deflection.

Jim rolls his eyes. "Alright fine. I'm going. But be warned—if you let any of the little ones drown then I will drown you," he cautions and walks off without waiting for a response.

True to Spock's word, Bones is waiting for him on top of one of the transporter pads with Chekov and Scotty in tow. When he notices Jim's approach, he looks a little less grim and a bit more eager. It warms Jim's heart to know that he's the reason for that kind of change in Bones's usual sour patch demeanor.

"Ah, Keptin!" Chekov greets sunnily. "The Doctor said that you would join us. I am happy to see this is true."

"Aye, and me as well," Scotty says with his devil-may-care grin.

"Happy to tag along. After all—we're all guys here right?" Jim says and snorts at his own joke.

Bones rolls his eyes and nods at the officer working the transporter station.

In a spin of light that breaks them apart and stitches them together again, they land smack dab in the busy heart of Risa's nightclub area in the capital of Nuvia. Jim lifts an eyebrow with interest and follows the attractive sight of the behinds of two lovely Risian females walking across their path and down the cobblestone strip.

"Get that grin off your face, Jim. We're here to drink until we don't know up from down. Not do whatever it is you're thinking," Bones warns with a scowl.

Jim rolls his eyes and throws up his hands in exasperated surrender.

"So that's the agenda, is it? Though I don't mind," Scotty says with an approving nod. "I'm keen to see just what this lot has to offer."

"In Russia, there are millions and millions of fine clubs," Chekov chimes as his spine straightens with pride. "We have alcohol that will put a man, as you say, under the table and through the floor!"

"Ah, get away with that!" Scotty scoffs. "Belfast! Now there's the place to be. They've got ale there that's illegal on practically every planet. Even here too, I bet. And good stuff. None of that weak backwater most of them try to shortchange you with."

"Well I for one think we should just follow Bones's lead," Jim announces and claps a hand over his best friend's shoulder. Bones jolts with a start and throws a baleful glower Jim's way. "So. Where to first? It's your world, Bones, and we're just living in it."

"I know you haven't ate. That'll be no good. I know a place we can go. Let's get some food in our stomachs first, and then I'll show you all a thing or two," Bones says with a smirk.

They get taken first to this little restaurant on the edge of the Suraya Bay. It was pretty packed when they got there because it was so close to the time of the Moon Festival and as a result there were a many species vacationing on the perfectly weathered planet. By the time they got a booth for themselves, it was well past three p.m. and by the time they left it was eight o'clock. The place was called _Eektanee,_ where they served spice noodles the color of black tar, a special serving size fish pudding pinked for flavor and moon cakes as sweet as rice pudding but softer than angel food cake. Between the four of them, they cleared out a good five dishes of the stuff, with still enough room to spare. Jim really enjoyed the moon cakes and he made sure to put in a particular order of them before they left (he asked for a dozen of them to be delivered to the Enterprise).

Bones then took them to a nightclub called _Furanda Kiwi. _It was three-leveled place designed for the purpose of dancing, drinking and entertainment. The first floor is the dance floor filled with special strobe lights and glass floors that showed a tank of glow fish swimming around under your feet as you danced. The second floor is where the bar and the alcohol is served. There are over hundred tables and even more bodies that filled the place as a whole. Jim recognizes a few of his junior crew and he polite enough to wave with a friendly grin.

The top floor is what one could basically label as a strip club.

"Can we—"

"Drink first, Jim," Bones says with an exasperated snort. He rolls his eyes when Jim pouts. "Oh would you come on, you big baby. We've got plenty of time for the top floor."

"Yeah but I—"

"Drinks first."

"_Fine._"

Chekov and Scotty engage in a little drinking game that, to be honest, seems like a disaster waiting to happen. Jim is just laughing it up anyway because the messed up part about it is that the both of them are doing their own thing (Scotty is playing some kind of game he learned with the other engineers back at the academy and Chekov is working his way through a string of Russian games). Jim decides to take it easy tonight. He'll have to be the sober one it seems—he doesn't mind that. He likes to keep a clear head when he's getting a lap dance. Speaking of which—

"Now? Can we go now? I've had like, three and a half Risan mai-tai's," Jim whines at a partially tipsy Bones. He knows that Bones is tipsy because his CMO can barely keep the scowl on his face. Its beyond amusing and its nothing Jim hasn't witnessed plenty times before.

"Fine, fine," Bones grumbles and clasps his sweaty palm on the nape of Jim's neck as he uses the other hand to take his drink with him as they travel up to the top level.

"We're going upstairs!" Jim shouts over his shoulder at Chekov and Scotty. They stumble after them and tread close behind.

There is a pulse of music and sensual light that greets the four of them as they make their way through a swaying crowd hooping and hollering towards a black linoleum t-shaped stage outfitted with runway lights and odd shaped dancing poles. There are all manner of species of exotic dancers grinding and doing their own art form of dancing tricks to the throbbing beat of music. Jim is giddier than a school kid in a candy store. Chekov and Scotty have put their squabbling debate over who won on hold in order to stare wide-eyed at the scene before them. Chekov goes redder than a bottle of hot sauce, and with a cute squeak, he ducks behind Scotty for protection. Though it's unclear how much protection Scotty will be since he's walking closer to the stage in a zombie-like daze with his mouth open in amazement. Bones just follows after them to make sure they stay out of trouble, but he seems unimpressed by the entertainment all the while.

Jim makes to grab the ceremonial costume bead necklaces in a glass bowl that's circling the room and throw a few at the dancers he likes best when he spots a blonde bombshell huddled in a corner by herself wearing a Starfleet academy red dress. Her blonde hair falls down over her shoulders and lays in layers around her curvy breasts. She's sipping on a Risan mai-tai and leaning against the wall with one arm crossed across her chest, peering at the stage with her head cocked in fascination that borders on a scientific curiosity. Jim ditches Bones and Chekov and Scotty to leave them to their own devices. He makes his way through the crowd to the gorgeous blonde as if he's looped on a siren's call.

"So sorry—not interested," she says immediately when he manages to reach her in ample time. She's got a charming English accent, and her blue eyes are firmly fixed on the stage.

Jim grins. He loves a challenge. "You haven't even given me a chance to make my case—my name's Jim by the way and can I just say you are—"

"No you may not say because as I have explained before, I am highly uninterested," she replies and glances at him, and then over him before she reluctantly adds, "Carol Marcus."

"Marcus," Jim echoes with a thoughtful frown. He steps directly in her line of sight and leans against the wall with her as she sighs and shifts her weight back, still refusing to meet his eyes. "Now I've heard that name before I'm sure."

"Not surprising if you have," Carol says with an unimpressed twitch of her lips.

"It'll come to me," Jim supposes and looks her over unabashedly. "So, you're a cadet. What are you doing here? And I don't mean here, as in this room, because I don't judge since I'm here as well, but what I do mean is here, as in, on this planet."

"Will you go away if I say?"

"It's worth a shot," Jim teases with a grin.

Carol stares up at him finally before rolling her eyes and sighing once more. "I'm studying abroad, you can say. I'm here with a few others and our professor. It's a hands-on experience. Our professor thinks that Risa is perfect place to study tectonic instability and how technology can improve such a thing."

"What's his name, your professor?"

"_Her _name is Dr. Janice Lester."

"Oh," Jim says and eases back some as an all too clear picture of the aforementioned woman comes to mind.

Carol smiles unkindly. "So you've heard of her. Funny—most men tend to have the same reaction whether or not her name is mentioned in polite company."

Jim snorts and replies, "My being a man has nothing to do about it. Trust me. I sat in on one of her lectures a couple of years ago when I was still in the academy. I must have caught her on one of her crazy days because she kept going on and on about life-energy transfer as a means to combat Starfleet's misogynies."

Carol gives Jim a considering look. "I agree that her methods are extreme to a point, but she really has the foremost knowledge in regards to molecular biology."

"Is that your focus?"

"Well science," Carol admits. "But yes. I dabble in the fields of biology and chemistry—with particular interest in genetics and biochemistry."

"The Genesis Theory!" Jim exclaims with a snap of his fingers. "I remember reading your paper during my last year at the academy, before the whole Nero mess. It was featured in the Starfleet Chronicle. You were just a freshman then. I was—well—I still _am _impressed."

Carol face gives an attractive flush. "Usually people link me to father—he's the Fleet admiral, but I'm actually flattered that you read my theory."

"It was beyond the scope of amazing," Jim gushes. "I'd back you a hundred percent if I thought it'd make a difference. You want to make it into a project right?"

"Well my brother David and I are still in talks about that with a few Federation sponsors, but by the time we graduate we should be well on our way to starting the first phase."

"Any particular place you have in mind if you do?"

"David's fiancée, Saavik, suggested we aim for the Mutara sector. It's federation owned and it's relatively quiet space."

"Is your brother older or younger than you?"

"He's—" Carol is interrupted when a random drunk bumps into her and attempts to grope her. She shoves him off, with Jim's help, and is disgruntled when she notices that her mai-tai has soiled her uniform.

"Do you wanna maybe get out of here?" Jim suggests carefully. "I just—I'm really enjoying our conversation and I wouldn't mind if we weren't constantly being interrupted, to be honest."

"Honest," Carol echoes in a drawl Jim finds entrancing. She looks Jim over. "I do like honest."

"How about forward?" Jim asks as he presses in closer. "Because I have the most compelling urge to confess that I also want to have sex with you."

Carol pulls him out of the club by the collar of his shirt. "David and I are twins. I'm a few seconds older."

"I like twins."

"He's still _engaged, _Jim," Carol says with an exasperated but mildly fond laugh.

"Oh yeah," Jim recalls with a sigh. "Saavik, you said. Is she—"

"Vulcan. Most certainly. Problem?"

"Not at all."

"I love her. She's a bit complex, but she's good for my brother," Carol remarks and nods her head in a specific direction. "My class and I are holed up at the hostel right there. Lucky for me, I managed to bag a room for myself. Odd numbers, so I didn't get a roommate."

"I do like odds," Jim quips as they enter said building and climb a few flights of stairs to a hall where, at the end, Carol's room waits. The lights turn on automatically when they pass over the threshold. The room is finely furnished and spacious, Jim notes. He turns to Carol who gives a small smile as he takes a few steps towards her.

"I'm just going to change and," Carol starts as she backs up. "We can finish talking. I really do like talking with you." Her back meets the wall and she lifts her hands and puts it on Jim's chest. "Jim—"

Jim nips at her bottom lip to silence her and sinks into her mouth with his tongue. Carol moans and fists her small delicate hands in his shirt as she presses closer. She hops up and wraps her legs around his waist, making Jim grunt in surprise and stumble back towards the couch. They land with a soft 'oomph!' and Carol straddles his waist and begins rocking her body down into his. Jim's breathe hitches and his hips stutters up, as they part long enough to take each other's clothes off.

"Wait, wait," Jim gasps as Carol sucks a red mark into his chest. "I think you should know something before we—"

Carol huffs out a husky laugh. "What? You're not going to say you're a virgin or something ridiculous."

Jim colors and mutters, "Not a virgin per say but this is my first time—_ah_!" He scrunches his eyes close and tries to concentrate. "I meant to mention that I'm Jim Kirk. Former female, temporary male."

"Captain Kirk?" Carol says and sits up and sits back on his thighs. "But—you're nothing like how my dad—oh. _Oh. _Oh wow. How did—"

"An away mission. Long story. Yellow magnetic pores and molecules and—all that," Jim explains vaguely with circular motion of his hand.

"Ah. I see," Carol says, clearly smothering a laugh.

"Its not funny, Carol."

"It is."

Jim glares.

"A little," Carol teases and leans forward to kiss the corner of his mouth. "Do you still want to—"

Jim smiles a little self-deprecatingly. "I didn't mention it so you can stop. Though it wouldn't hurt if you promised to still respect me in the morning. I'm told I'll shift back any day now. Will that be a problem?"

"No problem," Carol murmurs thoughtfully into his neck. "I think we should enjoy this side of you while we're able. And perhaps one day we can do the same when you've resumed your normal framework."

"I agree," Jim says as he squirms against her wondering hands. "Feel free to break me in and all that." He smiles as she chuckles and sits up again.

"Oh," Carol says with a stunned breath. "Oh you are impressive," she whispers as she looks down at where she fists him carefully. "So pink and wet for me—you'll slide in so easy."

"Oh _fuck_—" Jim whimpers as his hips twitch as his cock jumps. He feels like all the blood in his body is heading south to his dick and maybe he should have thought about this whole scenario because he's sort of freaking out. This is new territory.

"Hm," Carol hums as she licks a slick trail down his chest. "You must like dirty talk. You're getting so hard for me."

Jim flushes. He's mortified. "_Carol_—"

"Don't get shy now, Jim. It's okay. Honesty, right?" Carol murmurs as she mouths her way down the side of his cock. "Honesty and forwardness."

"Y-yes," Jim stutters in a gasp as his hips jumps again.

"I want to ride you, Jim. I've wanted to ride you ever since you walked my way." She slides her tongue up the underside of his cock and Jim hiccups. "Then I want you to take me from behind. And more than anything I'd like to see how long your refractory period is."

"You're gonna _kill _me."

Carol laughs.

She might possibly kill him after all because she is all over him in the next moment (in the next hours)—hands, mouth, teeth, and forcing out these breathy little moans from Jim's pink mouth. And the mouth on her—Jim's always had a thing for dirty talk, but he'd never admit to it ever but that doesn't seem to matter to her because she's deliberately spewing filth in his ear as she rides him. She, without a doubt, has an impressive array of bedroom tricks that never fail to wrench some embarrassing little whimpers out of his throat. He's trying to understand this for what it's worth, the experience being new and all. He wants this to be something he remembers, oddly enough. But it's hard to think past the way Carol's perfect lips and fast tongue easily sinks down on his cock. He can't hear anything past her pleasured sobs, or the way the couch collapses from the strain of every position they've tried. They laugh as a cloud of feathers wash over them.

"Are they going to make you pay for that?" Jim asks as Carol curls into his side.

"Maybe not—the Risians, unsurprisingly, are tolerant of such behavior," she reports. She sits up partially and leans on a propped hand as she looks down at him. She traces her fingers over his face. "So you're on shore leave?"

"Yeah."

"We've been quite busy, have we?" she says with a smile as her hand slides into his hair.

Jim stiffens and pulls away before she can reach his scar. She doesn't say anything about that.

"Do you ever get lonely?" Carol asks as she takes back her hand.

"Sometimes, I think. I don't really know," Jim admits. "I've been pretty preoccupied with a lot of things. I don't think I've gotten the chance to sit down and think about it. I've always been fine on my own."

"It helps to have friends," Carol points out. "You have a lot of friends, don't you?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that." Jim reaches up and tucks her hair behind her ear. "I have a good handful of them."

"What's it like," Carol asks as she shifts against him and traces her eyes over his lips. "Having your own starship and a crew at your command."

"It's—heavy. I mean I like it but it's also nothing I ever could have expected. It has its ups and downs."

"Does it make a difference—being a woman?" she asks. "Dr. Lester says that it takes twice as long for a woman to get where a man can in a matter of months."

"I think I'm lucky to be where I am, and being so young. But I do think that there are some—discrepancies with female officers," Jim admits. "But I can't exactly go campaigning the injustice right now. But I would like to sometime after my five year, just because I think by that point I'll have more time to focus on the issue and speak from real experience."

"I understand that," Carol says as she looks at him with captivation. "You know, she speaks your praises sometimes. Dr. Lester. She may come off as a bit of a whackadoo but she really means well."

Jim snorts, and then notices the orange sunlight sliding along the walls. "Is it morning already?"

Carol grins.

"Holy shit. You kept me up," Jim says with an impressed laugh. "I've got to get going." He stands and searches for his clothes.

"I suppose you do," Carol remarks with a put-upon sigh. "I'm sorry to see you go."

Jim just chuckles and hobbles into his pants. He takes a moment to lean over and give her a kiss.

"Mm, go. Before I decide to chain you to my bed and keep you there," she warns with another cheeky grin.

Jim shrugs into his shirt and steps into his shoes before he approaches the door.

"Tell good tales about me, Captain Kirk. I know I will."

Jim walks out her door backwards with a cocky grin and a salute.

888

Jim returns to his living quarters to see it flooded with crayon sketches on colored paper. He frowns and recognizes Riesa's handiwork right away. He picks one and takes it to the bathroom with him as he studies the picture. He turns it over a few times as he sets the temperature for the sonic spray and notices that it is actually a diagram (or a map of some kind of storm cloud looming over a planet). He frowns and sets it on the counter as he strips down and hops under the spray with a relaxed sigh. He grins without meaning to as he recalls his insatiable night with Carol and chuckles a little indulgently while he gets to work on washing his hair.

After he's clean and outfitted in a fresh pair of civilian clothes, he gets to work with clearing his floor of the sea of drawings. He smiles fondly as he works his way through them. There are some nice drawings from Leona that involve her wearing a beautifully long royal dress with dragon patterns. She's holding hands with Riesa and Jasel and they're all smiling while they stand beside, who must be, their parents as they wave to a crowd. Jasel's drawings are neater and more academic. He's drawn detailed sketches of individual stars and planets and celestial objects. Riesa's, however, are a bit more odd and off-putting by the dark nature of them. Jim's grin fades as he notices a few disturbing sketches of a black monster with red eyes and a tall pale man that stands in the distance. And there are more crayon drawings of an icy blue planet with a looming storm cloud.

By the time he picks up the last sketch and dumps it in a box he's scribbled as '**KID'S DRAWINGS**' something hits him. He knows that planet and is able to recognize it from a distant memory in the back of his mind. It's Delta Vega—the same planet Spock had stranded him and where he found Prime Spock and Scotty.

"But why would you draw that?" Jim wonders aloud to himself. "I thought you didn't know anything about this, Riesa."

It is a curious thing.

His door chimes and he's distracted for a little while in order to answer the door. It's Bones.

Bones eyes him for a second. "Where'd you run off too last night?"

"I made a friend," Jim says with a suggestive leer.

Bones rolls his eyes. "Surprise, surprise," he mutters dryly. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Nope, but I can sure go for some grub. Long night and all that," Jim says with a chuckle.

"I don't wanna know about it so keep it to yourself," Bones warns with a stern scowl.

"Liar. You do. Isn't that what guys do anyway? Share all the gritty details?"

"I'm sure they do and I wouldn't know because _I _know that a real gentlemen never kisses and tells."

"Ha. You tell me everything though."

"Because you whine it out of me you insufferable shrimp!"

"But we're _besties_! We're supposed to share."

Bones just sighs and does an about-face without the courtesy of waiting for Jim, so Jim's left scrambling after him. He tells Bones everything on the way to the Transporter Room just to watch the expressions on Bones's face shift from annoyed to awkward to slightly turned on and back to annoyed until the both of them are on the surface of Risa again. Jim just whistles with a smug grin as Bones stomps onward with a grimace and a flushed face.

"So, Bones, where are we going?" Jim asks when he's able to catch up.

"Suraya Bay. Don't you know, Kid? It's the day of _Lohlunat_," Bones explains and doesn't say anything as Jim wraps an arm over his shoulders.

"The Festival of the Moon. Neat," Jim says with an eager grin. He takes a moment to look Bones over. "You look nice."

"Thanks," Bones replies with a bit of reluctance, sending Jim a suspicious sideway glance. "What do you want?"

"Nothing. Can't I say you look nice?"

Bones just mutters something. As they make their way down onto the beach sands, he asks, "Did you use protection at least?"

"Protection for what?" Jim counters in a distracted manner as he eyes the colorfully outfitted beach laid with multiple concession stands and banners and dancers that are practically half-naked with interesting white films of patterns drawn against their exposed skin.

"What do you _think_, Jim?" Bones bellyaches. "There is a such thing as too much fun. Do I have to drag your ass back to the ship and up to sickbay to make sure you haven't contracted any virus?"

"Nah. It's fine," Jim says, waving a hand careless.

"It's fine? Jim—" Bones steps in front of him and grips him by the shoulders to look him dead in his blue eyes. "You do realize that there is a _very really _possibility that you can get a woman pregnant? That's why I asked you very nicely to refrain from—_copulating_—with anyone."

"Uh, well—we didn't exactly—I mean I didn't use a—" Jim stutters into a halt as he begins to flush. He is _so _not okay with this line of questioning. "But she said that she was—just—"

"Oh she said did she?" Bones scowls and gives Jim his most disapproving glare. "You better hope, Jimmy, because in about nine months from now, you could find yourself holding a little bundle of joy."

Jim makes a face. "Bones—come on. You know that I can't have kids as a woman. Why would my chances be any better as a guy? For all we know I can be just as sterile as a eunuch."

"Lovely juxtapose."

"Well look at that, you said a smart word. _Ouch!_ What'd you pinch me for?"

"Just because you think it's not possible, doesn't mean it isn't. Strange things have a way of happenin'. In the end, biology always seems to find a way so that's why I'm tellin' you now that you better hope this isn't the case for your situation," Bones says and moves out of Jim's way. "Damn pain in my side," he grumbles as they continue on.

Jim makes a face at him and rubs at his sore arm. His mood doesn't have a chance to make a turn for the worst because they approach a pleasant smelling food stand where Jim's bombarded by Leona and Riesa. He manages to steady himself and hunch down on a knee to hug them with a fond smile. He doesn't mind that their hands are sticky with the juices from a glowing piece of fruit. Leona gives him one last smile before she rushes back over to Jasel, who is talking with Spock and Uhura.

"Missed you," Riesa mumbles into the side of his neck.

"Same here, kiddo," Jim replies softly. He rubs her back soothingly before he stands. Riesa quickly loops her fingers with his and sticks to his side like glue. Jim makes a mental note to ask her what's wrong and to talk about her little pictures. "Where are Chekov and Scotty?"

"Where do you think?" Bones counters and makes a gesture to his head that can be interpreted as 'they've probably succumbed to a nasty hangover, the prideful idiots'.

Jim snorts. He isn't surprised really. "Well let's tag along with Uhura and Spock."

Bones makes a face at the mention of Spock but he doesn't complain all that much—especially when Kenya joins them not even a second a later in a pair of bleached cutoff shorts and a bikini top. She shows off a few impressive temporary tattoos in intricate swirls made with white film.

"They are called moonlight cryptograms," Uhura goes on to explain as Kenya hunches down for the convenience of Leona and Riesa's poking and prodding. "Tonight, when the two moons are in alignment, they'll glow as white as the moons. When they do it shows that she has been touched by the moons and will have been blessed to see paradise on the event that she should pass away sometime this year—the moons' kiss is sealed into her skin, therefore Death must pardon her past transgressions and let her pass into paradise with minimal fuss."

"Interesting," Bones murmurs as he watches Kenya with barely concealed interest. She's smiling beautifully at the attention she's receiving from Leona and Riesa.

"You know what's an idea," Jim announces innocently. "We should all get into the spirit. Let's all get some tattoos." He pulls off his shirt and rubs a hand across his bare chest. "In fact—Kenya why don't you take Bones to the same stand you went to get those done. He was staring at your skin pretty hard so he must like the job they did."

"I will suffocate you," Bones hisses quickly as Kenya eagerly bounces to her feet and grabs his hand to pull him off towards the west side of the beach. "You hear me, Jim! You're not slick!" he shouts back over his shoulder.

"Have fun! Bye! See you guys later! Take your time!" Jim yells back, barely able to get the words out as he laughs. He really loses it when Bones flips him the bird.

"Are you trying to set my cousin up with Leo?" Uhura says as she approaches Jim with narrowed eyes.

"What do you mean? And since when do you call him, Leo? I don't even do that. Spock do you hear this?" Jim rambles as he tries to carefully deflect the question.

"I have no comment on the matter," Spock states simply.

Jim just rolls his eyes with a huff. He should have known he would get no help there. "Right—I'm going to go get some marks. Who wants to join me? Jasel, you don't get a choice. You too, Spock."

Leona and Riesa's hand shoots up and Jasel sends Jim a venomous glare. Spock lifts an eyebrow and looks to Uhura who just grins with a shrug.

"Might be fun," Uhura offers and ignores the way Jim fist pumps.

"Let's go to the one over here," Jim says as he points.

They go to a stand hosted by all Risian females that seem to be well into old age, but nevertheless have the steadiest of hands. Jim finds the way they mark him peculiar, mostly because of the process. Two women take his hands and traces the lines of his palm before whispering an array of affirmatives. Unlike Kenya, his swirling tattoos begin in the middle of his forehead and cover half of his face on the right side before expanding out across his neck, then to his chest and back, and then to his stomach. When they finish, they press a jewel to the middle of his forehead.

"Um, what are your names?"

"Anlista."

"Avonlea."

"Pretty. Um, so—why do I get the special treatment?" Jim asks as they begin to sprinkle a unique kind of translucent glitter over him.

"You are marked," Anlista explains.

"Death recognizes you as a friend. He will always pardon you," Avonlea adds.

"I'm sorry?" Jim says and blinks. "Did I—what?"

"You are recognized. The Great Mothers will receive its blessing _from _you. For you are blessed and highly favored. You need not the reverse," Anlista clarifies as they sprinkle more translucent glitter in his hair and over his body.

"We have finished." Avonlea nods gracefully and they move onto their next patron.

All Jim can do is stare after them.

"Look!" Riesa chirps excitedly and shows off her markings as she runs up to him. Leona joins them and does the same. "Wow, yours is different, Lady Jim."

"Very," Leona breathes with awe as the both of them set to work with studying every inch of Jim's skin.

"What did you do?" Uhura asks after Jim drags Leona and Riesa over to where Spock and Jasel are getting their marks. Uhura is already there, and she has very little marks, but no less impressive. Like everyone else, her face is clean and unmarked.

"What do you mean?" Jim asks as he watches Leona and Riesa run up to their brother and watch him. It's clear he's trying to shoo them off but the young Risian male that's inscribing his tattoos is chastising him.

"You look—extra."

Jim just shrugs and turns his eyes to where Spock is. Spock sits shirtless and perfectly still as five old Risian males set to work with marking him down. His shoulders sit in a neat line and his palms are facedown across his thighs. His face is blank but his eyes move carefully from side to side in curiosity. His eyes meet Jim and he raises an eyebrow in question.

Jim just gives him the thumbs up.

Uhura slaps on her glasses as the sun begins to burn more brightly.

"Why's he got so many working on him?" Jim asks as he continues watching.

Uhura, who has somehow procured a peach red drink with mini-sparklers, strawberries and pineapple, removes her attractive mouth from the straw to say, "I'm not sure. They got excited when he sat down and started fussing over him and then one after another began flocking to him. They seemed—eager to—I don't know—mark him. I had one person working on me. So did Leona and Riesa. It seems like you and Spock have something going for you."

"Well, sure, but he got more than I did," Jim points out with a slight pout.

Uhura rolls her eyes at his childishness. She goes to sip her drink but Jim gracefully plucks it out of her hands and starts drinking. "_Kirk_—" she growls warningly.

"Is this _alcohol_?"

"We're on shore leave."

"Yeah, I know, but—"

"Nope. I don't want to hear it." Uhura stomps off. Most likely to get another drink.

"Okay, that's fine. I wasn't judging!" Jim yells after her. "But just to be safe, let's not go overboard! I do miss having you on the bridge, you know!"

Uhura whips her head and sends him a glare before she continues to trudge off.

"Well, geez. I was only partially joking," Jim mutters to himself as he continues to down the rest of her drink. He turns his attention back to Spock but then jumps and chokes on his drink when he notices that Spock is right there in front of him. "Shi—you scared me!"

"That was not my intention," Spock assures impassively as his dark eyes unabashedly studies the designs on the side of Jim's face. "They have marked your face as well."

"Yeah. They marked your whole face. I only got the half-deal. I'm still prettier than you," Jim teases and takes a few more sips from his drink.

Spock stares at him steadily before plucking out the strawberries that's sitting impaled on the rim of his cup and flicking them out onto the sand casually. "I was not aware that this was a competition, Jim."

"Hey! Don't take my strawberries!" Jim fusses and glares at Spock. "They're not like—_in _the drink or anything. I would've dropped like a fly a second ago if they were. It's fine. I'm fine."

"It is more suitable to be cautious than careless," Spock corrects evenly.

"He's right, Jim," Bones says, appearing out of nowhere and stealing his already pre-stolen drink.

Jim jumps, startled, and slaps a hand over his heart. "What the fu—God, Bones! Don't do that! Is everyone looking to give me a heart attack?" He huffs and tries to regulate his breathing as his heart thrashes wildly in his chest.

"Oh like you like to do us almost every goddamn day?" Bones counters after a brief swallow. He holds the drink out of Jim's reach when Jim attempts to steal it back. "Get yourself some lemonade."

"I liked that one just fine!"

"Your markings are gorgeous!" Kenya exclaims as she studies Jim and Spock with great focus.

"Thanks. Bones! Stop being like that. I'm on shore leave! I should be able to do what I want. I'm a grown woman!" Jim exclaims and doesn't miss the looks tossed his way by the other patrons of the beach. "Well, I will be eventually."

"Lemonade or water. It's your choice. I've been nice enough to let you eat what you want, but I draw the line at drinks," Bones says, unmoved when Jim makes a tortured face.

"Oh my," Kenya says suddenly as she loops between Spock and Jim. "You have the same markings—you do realize?"

Spock and Jim take a moment to look at each other with the same amount of questioning in their eyes.

"These tattoos are also fate lines and it is extremely rare that a pair's markings has coinciding inscriptions since—"

"Nope," Jim interjects pleasantly and strolls away to join Jasel, Riesa and Leona. He doesn't have time to hear this whole spiel today. Today he's going to pretend that things are all good and normal.

Jim and the kids go concession stand hopping when they admit they haven't eaten. They try an array of Risian delicacies—some good and some not so good. Jim loves the veggie kabobs—of course, mainly because he's not a big meat-eater, much to the bereavement of his CMO. He also doesn't waste time gorging himself with moon cakes, but he slows down to halt so that he can go swimming with the kids a little over thirty minutes after they've eaten. The natives have assured them that the water won't affect their tattoos, so they happily play a bit of water polo and any game that Leona and Riesa wants to play. Jasel is the exception, but with the help of the twins, Jim manages to bully him into a few of the games.

They come ashore by the late evening hour and move to join the expanded group of his crew. They have a nice little setup, but far away enough from the tide. There's a cozy little campfire made of green and pink fire that mirrors all the other fires along the beach and the torches held by the half-naked dancers. Jim plops down between Chekov and Scotty and joins in on their little physics debate. Jasel takes a seat on the other side of Uhura, who is sitting beside Spock while she plays the Risian lute and sings with a few other Risian women who look to be her age. Leona and Riesa make themselves comfortable with Bones and Kenya. Jim takes a second to miss Sulu. He sorely wishes that Sulu could've been here to enjoy this.

"Chekov, did you bring your PADD?"

"Aye, Keptin. I did."

"Thanks. And it's Jim. We're on shore leave, remember?"

"Ah, sorry. Jim." Chekov reveals a PADD from behind him and happily hands it over. "Keptin—ah, no—Jim. If I may be asking—what do you need it for?"

"I'm going to take pictures and send them to Sulu," Jim explains as he kneels on his knees before Chekov. "And I know just who to start with." He opens up the camera application and aims. "Say cheese, Pasha!"

Chekov flushes at the nickname but he slaps on a beaming smile that's brighter than a thousand suns, and in Russian, says, "_Syr!_"

The photo takes and Jim gives him a thumbs up. "Okay. Now you with Scotty."

Scotty sticks two fingers up behind Chekov's head with a sly grin.

Jim chuckles but captures the moment. He stands and swaggers over to Leona, Riesa, Bones and Kenya. "Give your best smile!" is his only warning.

Leona, Riesa and Kenya do it easily enough but Bones, being the spoilsport he is, hides his face behind his seafood kabob and drink.

"Bones, come on!" Jim aims for just Bones and Kenya this time.

Kenya does a unexpected move and grabs Bones's head between her hands and kisses him directly on the mouth. Bones makes a sound of surprise but manages to still use the drink to block their faces just at the moment Jim starts snapping away.

"You're a punk!" Jim accuses and kicks some sand at Bones.

Bones grumbles something but he lowers his drink and shifts closer to Kenya to deepen the kiss, and she responds with a happy sound.

Jim is polite enough not to take pictures of that. Instead, he turns his attention on Leona and Riesa, who pose happily for him like the cute bunch they are.

He'll just stash these away for his personal collection.

He then wonders over to Uhura, who has her eyes closed as she sings gorgeously in a soulful voice while strumming gracefully at the lute with the other Risian woman. He quietly snaps a few pictures of the scene. He's so ensnared by Uhura's stunning vocals that it takes him a minute to notice Spock and Jasel are absent from the seats they were occupying before.

Jim frowns and looks around to see the two of them standing at the edge of the water as the tide slides over their bare feet. Spock has his hands tuck behind him as Jasel crosses his arms. They're both looking up at the darkened sky as an explosion of impressive show of fireworks boom overhead in all types of shapes, from galaxies to animals to symbols as a way to countdown the minutes until Risa's two moons align. Jim quickly captures a few of them before aiming the focus down to Spock and Jasel. He then walks over and around them to getter a better view. Like Bones, Jasel tries to hide his face with a scowl. Spock only studies his hands where the PADD is.

"I'm sending Sulu some pictures. He would've loved this I'm sure," Jim explains as he takes a few pictures of Spock's blank face.

The sound of horns and drums ring out across the beach and all of the dancers indicate for the visitors to stand. Jim isn't sure what's happening and he can't follow the thought because Leona and Riesa appear out of nowhere and snatch Chekov's PADD from his hands.

"Hey!" Jim says with weak indignation, but they're already out of reach, bouncing around and sharing the PADD between them to take pictures.

"I'll retrieve it, Jester," Jasel offers in a bored fashion and treks after his twin sisters.

Jim just sighs and turns to Spock to make some kind of comment but the words get lodged in his throat as his eyes widen.

Spock notices and says, "Captain—" but his words halt as well.

Jim watches as Spock's swirling tattoos begin to light up as if a barrel of moonlight in liquid form is being poured inside of him and peeking through the inscriptions. It's ethereal and surreal and wonderful and—

"Fascinating," Spock murmurs as his eyes take in Jim's own engravings.

The drums in the distant grow faster in pace and a chorus of voices begin to sing up towards the sky as the whole beach lights up from body to body until each individual becomes like a celestial lamp. Excited shouts and handclaps follow soon after and before Jim can make sense of things, a group of dancers and drummers begin to circle around Spock and him, drawing the attention of the rest of the inhabitants of the beach. Some of the Risians began to indicate and gesture for everyone to come closer and before long there is entire swarm of people watching them.

The moonlight caresses his skin like a gentle touch, causing Jim's heart to speed up when he feels those bright rays of light reach inside his mind and open the bond up on both sides. He's suddenly bombarded by Spock's **_confusion _**-**_ wonder _**-**_ disquiet_**. It falls over him like a rising tidal wave, and it sinks into his bones long enough to make his knees shake. This feeling isn't sexual, Jim is an expert at that, but it is, however, strangely familiar. It's a connection—an intimate and deep connection that spills over inside of him. His blue eyes lock onto Spock's, and he can see the same kind of alarm in those dark eyes. Jim can feel him, right there—right in his mind.

_Spock?_

Hesitation, quick and brief, but then—

**Captain.**

_This isn't good is it? This isn't normal._

**_I do not believe so. I am unable to block you at this present time._**

_This wont affect us, right? This isn't morphing the bond somehow?_

**_It is—unclear, but I do not believe so. The effects of this ceremony and the celestial influence of their moons seem to have weakened the integrity of the bond. Once we have departed I will endeavor to correct it. _**

_Yes. Right. Good._

Jim won't admit to being afraid, but this is more than he was prepared to handle. He feels so open—like Spock can reach inside of him at any moment and pull anything he wanted to out. He doesn't like that feeling at all, and he bets that Spock doesn't as well, because Jim can feel him too. He feels that open connection inside of him—and all he would have to do is follow it through and he'd be right there on the other side, in Spock's mind. Jim watches as both he and Spock begin to shine brighter than anyone else on the beach, and on top of that, the translucent glitter that's stuck to their skin begins to float upwards into the sky in a swirl of sparkles and twinkling pixie dust, all the way to the two moons that sit overhead.

The Risian drummers and dancers begin to rejoice even more until the glow of everyone fades away, along with their tattoos, and finally, they're all left with bare skin. Outbreaks of handclaps startle Jim and Spock out of the daze of their bond. Spock immediately slams his shields back up, and he seems to be shaking partially from the straining jolt of it all. Jim swallows as his heart gives a tickling thump against his ribcage and quickly moves into the crowd to escape all those curious eyes. It's not until he's making his way to the kids does he realize that he's still shaking too.

888

At the end of the festival, everyone boards the Enterprise and preparations to leave are commenced. Jim gets no sleep that night. Though he never suspected he would—the whole of the situation still has his equilibrium off balance. He'd spent the majority of the night, after making sure the kids were cleaned and put to bed, perusing through the lower decks and making idle chitchat with the junior ranks. Unfortunately, most of that chatting was inexplicably the grandest sense of awkward he had ever encountered. By now the rumors would have circulated about what occurred on the beach, if they hadn't witnessed it themselves. It would be obvious now that there is something more going on between him and Spock, and they would talk.

God how Jim wishes they wouldn't talk.

Sometime after the exhaustion of it all, Jim makes a mental note to call Prime Spock and complain. On the way back to his living quarters, he stops midway and decides to go to the nearest Ready Room. Upon entrance, he has the computer recite the time and when he decides it's not too early, he makes his way around and to the front of the long conference table. He leans back and eyes the view screen before verbally instructing the computer to activate its new code of firewall so that he can open up a link to earth and contact Smith's sister. Her face appears across the view screen in seconds, her hair is unkempt, she's wearing a duck yellow bathrobe, and she looks both tired and confused. She also looks to be in her mid-forties, she has dirty-blonde hair, and blue eyes that are much like Smith's. The relation is obvious in the physical features.

"Good morning. Can I help you?"

"Martha Smith?"

Martha's expression turns guarded. "Yes?"

"You're Kelly's younger sister."

Martha doesn't say anything to that. She heaves a great sigh before she leans forward and rubs the heels of her hands against her eyes.

Jim decides to keep going. "I'm sorry to inform you that she has recently passed."

"How recently."

"A little over two weeks ago. I would've called you sooner, but there was an ongoing investigation. Still kinda is."

Martha drops her hands and her expression is blank. "Do you mind if I just—get a cup of coffee?"

Jim shakes his head.

Martha stands and ambles her way over to her small kitchen. She grabs a mug from the dish rack beside the sink and pours herself a cup of coffee from a pot that is already brewing beside a toaster oven. The next few moments are spent in the echoes of a spoon clinking along the insides of the porcelain mug, and soon after, Martha is returning to her seat on the couch. She takes a few considerate sips of her coffee and sighs before she lowers the mug to her coffee table.

"How did she die?"

"She was killed," Jim confesses and watches as an array of emotion shutters across Martha's face before she settles into something resolutely grim.

"How did you find her?"

"She was—contorted from the waist up. Cause of death was internal. She was crushed from the inside out," Jim replies and watches as Martha winces. She spends the next few moments fingering the rim of her cup before she rubs at the space between her brows.

"I'm sorry, I—I don't even know your name."

"The fault's mine. I didn't give one. Captain James Kirk of the USS Enterprise."

"Enterprise," she echoes. She mutters, "Starfleet." She eyes Jim. "You look different from your pictures."

Jim shrugs and offers a cynical grin.

"I don't mean anything by that. I have a transgender friend, you know. It's all fine with me," Martha assures and Jim doesn't say a thing about that, even though he's vaguely amused. She takes a few more thoughtful sips of her coffee. "You're ship was the one that was with the—Narada incident correct?"

"Correct," Jim confirms carefully.

Martha snorts bitterly into her cup and shakes her head. She smacks her lips as she lowers the mug again. "I'd hope that my sister being on your ship was a coincidence but clearly her and her half-witted husband were up to something. And no wonder really."

"Mind elaborating?"

Martha lifted her eyebrows with a simple shrug as she crossed her legs and looked towards her kitchen. "I've come into the family money and Kelly has, unfortunately, not—much to the bereavement of her greedy husband."

"Mudd."

Martha confirms with a nod.

"How long had they been married?"

"Decades," Martha says. "Ever since Kelly graduated high school. She was a bright one, you know. Sixteen with a diploma and already ready for the world. But our parents pitched a fit because Mudd was older. I never trusted him—he dabbled in illegal things and just like his name he was nothing but mud and he dragged my sister down with him. She died that day they left that alter, I swear."

"I'm not sure how to ask—but I'm sure you noticed how odd her age progression has been," Jim says.

Martha snorts bitterly again. "I'm going to say something, and don't think I'm playing the envious little sister card," she warns. "Kelly was gorgeous. Absolutely gorgeous. And smarter than six Vulcans combined—but she had this weakness, you see. It's called men." She leans back in her seat. "Now I'm not faulting her for that, we've all been there, but Kelly, more than others, has had shit luck with men for as long as I could remember. Mudd was just the icing on the cake." She shakes her head sadly as her gaze lowers to her lap. "She called me one night, a long time ago. It was the last time I ever saw her—as my sister." Martha exhales shakily. It is obvious that this is difficult to talk about just by her body language and tone of voice. "She said that Mudd had something for her. Some kind of special gift that was going to make—that was going to strengthen their marriage and their love."

"When was this?"

"Three—maybe five years after they got married," Martha explains. "I think that she was thinking about leaving him because our parents were threatening to disinherit her. Now, make no mistake when I say that. We never came from money. My dad was a simple construction worker and my mom was a schoolteacher. The money was from pure luck. They hit the jackpot on a Wednesday night lottery when Kelly and I were tiny little things. It's enough to last for generations. Our parents died and left it to me, just as I plan to split it between my three boys and my two daughters. But you know, Kelly, with all her brains, wanted to be a teacher too with young kids. She loved kids more than anything and she was looking forward to opening up her own school with whatever inheritance money our parents would've split between us.

"But as things are sometimes, they had a bit of a stipulation. They didn't want to give Kelly any share because that meant that Mudd got a share as well—and we all saw Mudd for the no good he was. Unfortunately, Kelly didn't. When I say she loved that fool, I mean she _loved _that fool. He made her blind to all the wrong things. So she basically told our mom and dad that she didn't want any part of them or their money if that meant she had to leave Mudd. I think that sowed a few seeds of discord between them. Mudd wanted the money but Kelly just wanted him. Mudd has always been a chauvinistic pig that only appreciated two things in life, which is beautiful women to call his own and money. And what kind of profession do you know that would allow a man like that to have both in order to _make a living_?

"Kelly—" Martha struggles with her words as she fiddles with her cup and she ends up expelling a rough sigh before she begins again. "Kelly wasn't supposed to end up like that. I never—I mean—to even think that my quick-minded sister would dabble in intergalactic prostitution rings and smuggling rings and war conspiracy rings. I just—I couldn't believe that someone who had the potential to come so far would fall so hard to earn and keep the love of a man who didn't even deserve it. She would call me from wherever she was just—_crying _and _crying_ over and over and between her sobs she'd be trying to convince me that Mudd loved her and all this other bullshit. And I would think to myself that this can't be right. I was only twelve when she first got married and by the time I was seventeen and by the time she stopped calling and sending me holographic postcards, I knew deep down within me that there would be nothing I could do to help her. Because after our last conversation she wasn't even there anymore. She was always so angry and vicious and different—like it wasn't even her.

"And you know what, it wasn't her. It was just this thing that Mudd put inside of her. It was just so awful and wrong. She used to come randomly throughout the year and sit with us for dinner or breakfast and she'd just say these awful things to us. It was like she saw things that a normal person wouldn't see. She never changed. She looked no different from the day she left us. And our mother had always been religious and she would beg our father to get some sort of—spiritual help or seek it through some deity. And it was a horrible time in my life because I felt like everyone around me was just losing their mind. Then, just like that, my parents died and I was left with everything. I was left with everything and I was also pregnant with my first child. The father of my children and I never got married. He offered every time we had another kid but I didn't want to—not after everything that had happened. Not after watching my sister disappear for years only to come back in the form of report given to me by a Starfleet Captain explaining that my sister died from unnatural contortion."

Jim feels inklings of guilt begin to worm its way in. "I'm sorry. Truly," he says.

Martha nods silently. She takes another inhale/exhale. "She never got to meet my children. She would've enjoyed all of them, and I wish I could've shown them how she used to be. But—I can't." She shakes her head. "I've spent most of my life treating her memory as if she were dead and now that she actually is—I just—I don't know. I thought—well with whatever Mudd was doing with her—I thought she'd outlive me. I thought she'd outlive him and that maybe one day she could be free to be like she's always wanted. But I think I also knew it would end this way. My mother always said whatsoever is started in blood must end the same."

"I know this is difficult for you to talk about," Jim says. "But you mentioned Mudd was involved in smuggling. Did you mean human trafficking?"

"I meant, Captain, that he dabbled with all sorts of odd jobs. One of them being human trafficking and at times also interspecies trafficking. He was no respect of persons. That was his specialty—extraction jobs." Martha takes a moment to frown. "Do you—do you know where he—"

"Dead," Jim confirms. "One of his last jobs told me so."

"Oh," Martha says simply and she looks upset by the news. "God—I just—it's not even satisfying to hear like I always—" She trails off and lets out a rough sigh. "It's over now. I guess that's all I'm going to focus on." She swallows and fiddles with the cup in her hand. "My sister's body—what did you do with it?"

"Despite things, she's still intact for a proper burial."

Martha's eyes flash suddenly. "What?"

"At your request, we could have it shipped," Jim offers.

"You didn't burn it?" She begins to look panicked. "Please tell me that you burned her body."

"Burn? No—why would we have?"

"For the sake of your own safety," Martha snaps. "I may not be a religious person but I understand that this is how these things go." Her shoulders slouch and her eyes move restlessly. "I was afraid of this."

"Afraid of what?"

Martha looks at him sharply. "That _thing_—it's still on your ship. And if you were smart, you'd get rid of it. Then again, it might be too late since you waited this long to inform me. For all I know, it could have jumped into the next available body—God, what a mess." She shakes her head as she fists her mug. "You got to get that thing taken care of."

"How exactly am I supposed to do that?" Jim asks. "And you haven't really told me enough about _'that thing'_ besides making the mere mention that it was inside of your sister."

"What exactly do think has been keeping her so young all this time? I'm pretty sure that whatever was found in her autopsy report must have confounded your doctors. Kelly wasn't right and she hadn't been right for a very long time. When you told me how she died, I thought that you had witnessed that thing come out of her yourself, because that would be the only way she would've died, and I thought you'd taken care of it but obviously—" The screen fizzles and goes in and out. Martha looks stricken by the time the link has healed itself and she clamps her mouth down again.

"Ms. Smith?" Jim says worriedly. "Is everything okay?"

"If it does find it's way inside someone else—don't listen to a word it says. That's how it gets you, by spitting out your truths. It'll reach in you like that. Just don't let it start talking about you. I have to go. I've said too much as is. I wont be involved in this—not again. I'm sorry. Goodbye Captain Kirk."

Jim is at a loss when the view screen clears and the connection is lost.

"_McCoy to Kirk._"

Jim unconsciously reaches for his communicator and flips it open. "Kirk here."

"_I suggest you get down to sickbay, and you bring ole pointy-eared with you. You're gonna want to see this._"

888

Spock meets Jim at the entrance of sickbay. Things are still a bit stilted and awkward between them. Before Jim even has a chance to voice his concerns about Jasel, Leona and Riesa, Spock informs him that the kids are well in order and that he had taken it upon himself to ask Chekov for his assistance. Chekov eagerly agreed to help, and Spock goes on to say that Chekov had promised to use all means available to him to keep them entertained.

Jim is only slightly concerned.

When they enter sickbay, the med staff are flying to and fro with their charts in an almost frantic dance around the blue curtain encompassing the biobed in the middle of the room. Jim doesn't take the sight to be a good sign and luckily Bones spots him before vice versa.

"You're here—good, or not, I can't decide yet," Bones mutters gruffly as he makes a beeline for them. "Maybe you two can help me make sense of the situation." He takes a moment to walk to the access pad by the door, and he waves in Cupcake, who is followed by two more security officers. They stand by the door with their arms crossed as Bones keys in a code that puts the whole ward on standby lockdown.

Now Jim is really curious.

"What exactly is the situation, Bones?" Jim asks as Bones gently pushes him over to the closed off biobed.

"I'm not exactly sure, Kid," Bones admits as he lets go of Jim's arm to nod at two nurses. They stand on either side of the curtain with their hands poised at the opening.

It's almost like some kind of odd circus reveal.

Bones motions for Cupcake and his small security team to come closer. They stand right behind Jim as Spock joins him at his side. There are three steps of space between them and Jim can't help but to notice the curious gleam Spock seems to be sporting in his mud brown eyes.

Spock must feel the gaze because he turns and lifts and eyebrow in Jim's direction.

Jim gives him a sarcastic grin and doesn't say anything, just to see that glimmer of suspicion and apprehension flicker in Spock's eyes like it always does whenever Jim smiles or grins when the situation never calls for it.

"Brace yourselves," Bones warns, grabbing Jim's attention again. He signals to the nurses and they begin to carefully pull back the curtain.

On the biobed, strapped down by brown leather individual wrists and ankle cuffs, is Angela Tomlinson.

Jim is shocked.

Because not only is she strapped down, but she has black inky veins bulging in spider web patterns across her face and arms and legs. She's wearing a hospital gown and her stomach is swelled in a way that Jim doesn't recall seeing. She looks to be due to give birth any moment. Her eyes are two different colors—one electric blue while the other is swamp black—and she's in an upright position, staring at seemingly nothing as she growls, her lips darkened with some kind of black goop. Her hair is wild and damp with sweat, causing streaks of her hair to stick to her face.

It's like a horror film, or more presumably like 'The Exorcist'.

"She came in with her husband late last night. He said she'd been complaining of labor pains ever since the night Yeomen Smith died. It only recently got more serious," Bones explains as he touches shoulders with Jim. His arms are crossed and his face is set in a resolutely grim frown as he keeps his eyes on Angela. "So I observed her—ran a few tests—and everything showed up fine. She was healthy. The baby was healthy and then all of sudden her vitals went haywire and she starts attacking my staff. We had to hold her down—she bit off her husband's two middle fingers and damn near took his eyes out. I had him moved over there." Bones nods to the other side of the room where Robert is lying on his side on the furthest biobed with his back facing them.

"Is he—"

"Sedated. Had to for the pain and the—_emotional_ trauma," Bones says as his frown deepens. He turns partially and lowers his voice so that only Jim and Spock can hear what he says next. "She's only supposed to be three months pregnant. Just look at her—she looks ready to pop. How can I explain that? I only pick up one other heartbeat beside her own and that's the kid, which isn't out of the ordinary but she looks pregnant with triplets. Her readings don't say anything other than the fact that her psych charts are off the map and that she's boiling from the inside out at a temperature of 112°C and _climbing. _Now I don't need to tell either one of you just how impossible it is that she's still even fully functional, let alone awake or _alive_."

Jim is a flabbergasted as he sounds.

"Jim—I don't know what to do here. At this rate she'll burn right through her bindings and we sure as hell don't want that. For god's sake—she'll burn a hole right through the floors!" Bones exclaims as he pulls back and turns his attention back to Angela. "She wont respond either. She just stopped. I sedated her but she wouldn't go down and I gave her enough to put a league of Klingons under."

Jim frowns and takes a step closer.

"Captain, I strongly advise against any approach," Spock warns, taking a step with Jim to match the distance.

"As much as it pains me to say, I agree," Bones mutters and walks around them to the other side of Angela's bed to look at her readings on the enlarged biofunction monitor standing alongside her bed.

"Angela." Jim waits for a response. "Angela it's me, Captain Kirk."

No response. Just heavy breathing infused with barely concealed growling.

"If you can here me—we need to know that you're okay."

No response.

"Are you alright?" Jim tries again. "Angela."

"This woman is asleep." Angela cocks her head. "Do she look alright?" she growls, but not just in her voice, but in two separate voices with opposite octaves—like two people speaking at once—like a man and a woman speaking at once.

Bones looks amazed to even hear her speak, as does the rest of all the occupants in the room.

"Who are you?"

"This man asks to many questions. This man does not want the answers," Angela says as her head rolls over her shoulders with a murky chuckle. "I do not have time for this man."

"I am the captain of this ship, so yes, I do think you have time."

"This ship belongs to Captain James T. Kirk. You are not Captain James T. Kirk."

"I am," Jim confirms as he takes another step closer. Spock matches it again with a dissapproving furrow of his brow.

Angela watches him as her lips twitch. "You are not. Just as I am not the one you call Angela Tomlinson."

"Then who are you?"

No response.

"Don't get quiet on me now," Jim says and takes another step forward.

"Captain—"

"Jim—"

Jim ignores the warning he hears in Bones and Spock's voice. "I am Captain James T. Kirk, and if there is a life-form living inside one of my crewmembers than it becomes my business to know who or what exactly it is."

The charts monitoring Angela's pulse, respiration, temperature, and brain activity sporadically jumps as soon as she tacks her electric blue and swamp black eyes on Jim. Her pupils dilate as she stares. "You are not the original. You have changed." She cocks her head slowly as she fidgets against the restraints.

"I had a little turnaround with the transporters. But I should be back to normal any day now," Jim explains casually as he crosses his arms. "Now that we've established my identity, can you tell me who you are?"

Angela just stares. She yanks at her restraints and growls when she meets resistance. "This Captain will unbind me."

"No. Tell me who you are."

"This Captain will unbind me," she growls and yanks harder on her restraints.

"Tell me what you are."

"This Captain asks too many questions—but the right questions nonetheless," Angela hisses and snaps forward as though to bite. She opens her mouth and expels black smoke. The smoke curls above her head before fading away. "I am the smoke of the flame." Her lips twitch as her legs twist in resistance against her ankle bindings. "I am the devourer." Her eyes start to glow red as her the split staccatos of her voice lowered in pitch. "I burn out the soul."

Jim gives a humoring nod before saying, "That's real poetic and all, but that tells me nothing. I still don't know what and who you are. You're lucky I value the lives of my crewmembers way above my own because otherwise I would've had you put in the airlock and expelled into space."

Angela growls and snaps her teeth. "_Σκύλα! Μπορείτε μικρή γαμημένη πόρνη! Θα φάω γαμημένο μουνί σας μέχρι να κλαις! Γαμημένο επιτρέψτε μου να πάω ή να σας γαμήσω με τα όμορφα μπλε μάτια στο κρανίο σας!_"

Spock grows stiff beside him as Cupcake and his small security team raise their phasers and flank along either side of Jim and Spock.

"What the hell is she saying?" Cupcake asks, reminding Jim of his presence.

"She's speaking Greek. And you don't want to know," Jim says calmly.

"Γαμημένη πόρνη. Γαμημένη πόρνη. Θα τρώτε. Γαμημένη πόρνη," Angela continues to rant, over and over again.

Jim feels ridiculous for what he's about to ask but he's left with little options, he says, "Are you a demon?"

Angela stops her ranting to throw her head back and laugh. She lowers her head with a dark smirk to say, "Do not tack your pathetic human labels to me." She snaps her teeth again. "I am the smoke. I will burn out your soul."

"I don't have one," Jim counters.

Angela hisses and yanks at her restraints. "This Captain has a soul. This Captain is of value." She slides her tongue slowly over her top lip as she slides forward down the bed. She yanks harder with her right wrist. "This woman you call Angela Tomlinson, she is weak. She will die. But this Captain is strong. This Captain is no stranger to my father Death. This Captain will be my master's want."

"You better not kill her," Jim warns as his hands tighten into fists. "That is the last thing you want to do."

"This Captain makes threats that cannot be kept," Angela hisses as she falls backs and twists among the sheets as though she were having a fever dream. The black veins in her skin pulse and bulge as her sweat drink skin grows all the more flushed.

"I never make a threat I can't keep," Jim retorts.

"Your lights make me sick," she spits as if she's being tortured.

"What do you want with my ship?"

"Everything," Angela says with a disturbing moan. "So many souls to eat her. So many to consume." She writhes and rubs her knees together as she tries to yank her ankles free. "I will feed well."

"No you wont," Jim says sternly. "You're going to come out of Angela and you're going to leave my ship."

"Did she open up?" Angela whispers as she twists her body sensually along the sheets. Her hair hides her sweating face from view as she swings her head from side to side. "Was she a good fuck, Captain?"

Jim stares as his jaw tenses.

"So pretty," she hisses in a pained gasp. "And you gave her your seed because she whined for it like the little bitch whore she was. Did you think of your mother when you fucked her? You love the ones that look like your mother. Was she—this Carol Marcus."

"What is your name?" Jim questions and forces himself not to stammer. He feels a growing sensation of queasiness quake his stomach. He refuses to believe its fear.

"A kis kurva ígérhetek semmit," Angela replies with a dark chuckle as she sits up suddenly. Her eyes tack onto Bones. "Let's go around the room shall we? Do you miss your daughter, Doctor? She's a sweet little thing isn't she? She'd looked all the sweeter if she were hung from a tree. Like your daddy. Was he so miserable? He hated you, you know. Hated you and your worthless mother. Took that old rickety rocking chair out back to the oldest apple tree and tied him a knot, didn't he?"

"Bones don't listen," Jim says hoarsely as he watches the way Bones's usually steady hands shake, face paling immensely.

"Yes, Bones. Don't listen, Bones. Don't think about the way you found your father swinging from the tree that morning, Bones. Don't think about how happy you were that he'd done it, Bones. Good, Bones. Gentle, Bones. Saving lives to cover up the fact that you couldn't save your father's. You gave up on him and so he gave up on himself," Angela hisses as she twists in her bed. She swings her gaze to Spock. "_Gla-tor nash-veh kusut._ Did she scream when she fell?"

Spock stiffens.

"She was so scared, wasn't she? She looked at you and you didn't save her. _Gla-tor nash-veh kusut._"

"That's enough!" Jim snaps.

Angela throws her head back and laughs. She inhales deeply as her eyes roll all the way to the back of her head. Her jaw falls open as black smoke expels from her blackened lips and rises like the smoke of a chimney. Her neck clicks in a cocked angle as her fingers seize up and her spine arches. "This body is fading," she rasps. "She will not last, Captain. What will you do? An exchange perhaps?"

"My life for hers?" Jim supposes and Bones chokes on a protest that is stubbornly ignored.

Both of Angela's pupils shrink. "This Captain does not understand transference." Her lips stretch out into a smile. "My master is coming. He will walk and conquer. I must prepare the way. You will be a fitting gift." She pauses to let out a rattling cough. "My master has lost his world. We once lived together—he was the flame and I was the smoke. There was so many of us and then it was taken."

"Who is your master?" Jim asks. "No more games. I agree to the exchange, whatever it is—so long as you let everyone on this ship live."

"This Captain makes unreasonable requests, but it is accepted. Your body for their lives." Angela smirks darkly.

"Agreed. Now, who is your master?"

"He is the flame. His mistress and the soldier will revive him."

"A name. What is his name?"

"He is the oncoming storm."

"Give me his name!" Jim shouts and Angela's eyes glow as the lights of the room begin to flicker and all the biobeds begin to quack.

"His name—is Kahn."

Angela flies back and her spine arches as she lets out an ear-splitting scream that releases a full body of black smoke from her body that falls to Jim's feet and builds in the shape of a man with red eyes.

"You will take me to the threshing floor. The ritual will not be complete unless you are in true form. You will let me in and we will begin."

Jim chokes as an invisible hand seizes and forces his mouth open. He tries to fight it but sharps vapors of sulfuric clouds are clawing its way down his throat and sinking into the very depths of him. There is commotion and screaming shouts of his name but the smoke is consuming him and burning up the edge of his vision. He feels hot and stifled and full and he can't breathe. He starts to feel what seems like a thousand pinprick of needles launching through every molecule. He feels numb.

Then, darkness.

888

Piiiiing. Piiiiing. Piiiiing.

_"Warning. Warning. All system's shutting down."_

Piiiiing. Piiiiing. Piiiiing.

Jim groans.

The siren blares in an array of horns and a wash of red.

Her eyes flutter open as she's forced into consciousness. The floor beneath her is cold and unforgiving. Her bones feel heavy and weighted like she's being held down by sandbags. She groans again—her head is pounding like a throbbing tribal drum. The red wash of light stings her dry and sensitive blue eyes as she sits upright and presses a shaky hand to her head. She looks around at all the panicking crewmembers of her ship dash back and forth in confusion.

Piiiiing. Piiiiing. Piiiiing.

_"Warning. Warning. All system's shutting down."_

Piiiiing. Piiiiing. Piiiiing.

Jim frowns as she tries to stand on shaky legs but her feet skid and she's forced into a semi-split. Her gaze whips down as she notices that her captain's uniform is soaked in unmistakable chunks of blood and gore. Her hair is matted and knotted with it. Her legs and arms and hands are sticky with it. She shakes as she studies herself before she pulls her caked fingernails close to her chest and looks around in confusion. Everyone is passing her by—not paying her any attention.

Just when _had_ she turned back?

Piiiiing. Piiiiing. Piiiiing.

_"Warning. Warning. All system's shutting down."_

Piiiiing. Piiiiing. Piiiiing.

Jim shakes a little and swallows dryly as she crawls to the glass wall keeping her enclosed in a cell used normally for high risk criminals. And just why the hell was she inside one? What the fuck was going on with her ship and why was she stewing in, what clearly has to be, someone else's blood? What was going on? She glanced around and noticed two security officers standing on either side on the outside of her cell. A few paces ahead had Spock and Bones going back and forth in a heated debated. Bones is making wild gestures in her direction as Spock calmly responds with that level and neutral expression of his, though his posture is positively livid and rigid. He looks like a rubber band that could snap at any moment.

Piiiiing. Piiiiing. Piiiiing.

_"Warning. Warning. All system's shutting down."_

Piiiiing. Piiiiing. Piiiiing.

"_Imminent system and engine failure commencing in three minutes. Emergency power miscarried. All power forwarded to shields in gridlock."_

Jim considers the announcement in a daze as her hands slowly begin beating on the glass wall, leaving smudges of bloody hand swipes and fingerprints in it's wake. Her eyes flutter and she feels so weak. She's been drugged—that much she can tell. She's been given some kind of sedation and if she was a one hundred percent right now she would have been able to use her genius to figure out the how and why. But as is, she just keeps on pounding weakly at the glass as everyone continues to ignore her and scramble about.

Spock must notice something because he stiffens suddenly and turns his head towards her. It takes Bones a little longer—he's always been a little single-minded like that when he's enraptured in some sort of moral debate. He scowls but turns his attention to whatever has captured Spock's and when he sees Jim pawing pathetically at the glass, his expression becomes agonized. He's racing over and is down on his knees before her in a heartbeat.

"Bones," she slurs with an unconvincing smile. "Did you drug me up, you bastard?"

"Didn't have a choice, Kid," Bones admits shakily as he waves his medical tricorder up and down in the direction of her face. "You went haywire and—hell you were to strong, Jim. You let that thing inside you and you just—"

"What'd I do?" Jim asks slowly, the words unwinding like syrup from her tongue and seeping out her lips. "What did it make me do?"

Bones doesn't respond right away. He's too busy studying the results on his PADD. He looks up at her just as the lights of the ship flicker wildly before shutting down. She hears him curse. "Spock!"

"Doctor." Spock replies from somewhere in the dark. "I will search for Lieutenant Scott and Ensign Chekov. With any effort we should be able to come to a solution on how to resolve the state of the ship."

"Well I'm not gonna stop you. I want her out! Keeping her locked up isn't going to get that thing out of her. I'm far from down with our little debate!" Bones snipes with a mean glare.

Even though Jim can't see, she knows that Spock is lifting his eyebrow. "Debate, Doctor? I confess to some confusion on the matter. My formal understanding of the term identifies its meaning as a dispute discussed between two individuals with equal fervor. I seem to only recall your side of the conversation—mainly for the simple fact that you gave me little room to respond."

"Yeah, yeah. You just do what you have to do and I'll do the same. You're wasting time on me trying to spew your Vulcan logic," Bones gripes.

"It would seem so," Spock rejoinders before the soft sound of his footsteps lead off and around some unseen corner.

"Sometimes I really hate you for picking him as your First Officer," Bones confesses quietly.

Jim frowns when all she wants to do is grin at him mockingly. She winces and holds her head. It still feels like it's trying to split open.

"What do you remember?" Bones asks as he presses closer to the glass since he can't see her. Jim can faintly make out his outline in the dark.

"Nothing after the thing with Angela," she slurs and slumps against the glass where Bones is. She feels hot and uncomfortably sticky. "And I—I remember the smoke clawing it's way in me."

"Makes sense. That's about when the shit hit the fan," Bones says with a huff. "Something got inside you, Jim. And whatever it goddamn was, was the same thing that was in Angela. It took you over—made you crazy. You started attacking everyone on your way to the bridge and you locked in some coordinates that no one could change. You basically sent us careening to some sort of pulsing high-energy anomaly. As you can see, the Enterprise isn't responding well to it."

Jim frowns and blinks dazedly as her mind tries to kick into theory. "Like the—SS Valiant. Magnetic field."

"I'm going to pretend to understand what you mean by that—but yes. We're swirling in the heart of it now. It's what's making the ship go haywire. We're at a standstill above—"

"Delta Vega," Jim adds tiredly. She can feel Bones giving her a peculiar look.

"Yeah. Jim—you sure you don't remember anything? You're filling in my sentences a little too accurately," Bones says, and not without suspicion.

"Coincidence—maybe not," she slurs. "Riesa drew it." She blinks tiredly as her body goes a bit numb again. She's sliding down the glass wall and onto the floor before she can help it. "How much did you—drug me? Who did I hurt?"

"You didn't kill anyone if that's what you're worried about." Bones sounds upset with concern. "Damn Hobgoblin won't let me in there and wont let me let you out. He's got you on lockdown till we can be sure that whatever was controlling you before isn't still lingering."

"Where's the kids?" Jim uses what little energy she has left to ask this before she wipes out.

"They—" Bones hesitates. "Their gone, Jim. You sent them away. To the planet, that is. You shoved them on an escape pod and set the coordinates for the surface of the planet—though I can't say if that was you or the other thing."

Jim sobs weakly as her eyelids fall close. She's trying to tell Bones that she had nothing to do with it—and that the kids are in danger.

That thing isn't inside her anymore—it transferred into Riesa, and it's waiting.

Jim has the other side of the bargain to fulfill after all.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_Expect faster updates. My semester just ended and I have the whole summer free to do as I please. I would like to wrap up this part of this series and move onto the next by June. As you can see, I recently deleted the interlude chapter because I decided to go in a different direction with the storyline that should carry over into the later part of the series. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this. There is more to come. I think we have about one or two chapters left until this is finished. Should be fun. _


	12. Chapter 13

**Chapter 3**

Jim groans, and opens her eyes to utter stillness and silence.

It's wrong.

She's used to waking to the hum and whirs of her ship—and to not hear any of that breaches all different levels of wrong. She sits up and presses a sticky hand to her aching head. The pain is just above bearable and it propels her into consciousness in a startling manner.

The sound of a hazy Italian opera song, that sounds like it's being spun from a record, begins to blare through the PA system of the ship, _"Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o Principessa—"_

She tightens her lips in a firm line as a confused sob tries to leak through when she notices Bones's motionless body on the floor on the other side of the glass wall of her cell. She crawls over on shaky knees and weakly presses her palm against the glass where Bones's head is. Her heart sputters in relief when she realizes that his chest is rising and falling. It takes a moment longer to realize his body isn't the only one on the floor, and that the brig is littered with them.

_"Nella Tua Fredda strofa - Guardi le stelle - Che tremano d'amore, e di Speranza!"_

"Isn't it a fitting song?" Mitchell exclaims, appearing from the mouth of the corridor on the left side in an all black Starfleet uniform. He's dragging an unconscious security guard and stacking him on the group of others in the opposite cell. "Nessun dorma! Nessun dorma! Tu pure, o Principessa—" he repeats in a deep bellow. "None shall sleep," he grunts as he grabs another unconscious security officer and tosses him in the cell with the others. He huffs in relief and turns his gaze to Jim. "Even you, O Princess."

The song continues on its own, _"Ma il mio mistero E chiuso in me - Il mio nomo Nessun Sapra!"_

"I do apologize, Captain. I tried to wake you peacefully—but you have _quite_ the dynamic mind. It proved to be difficult, but no less entertaining and—appealing. Your First Officer is very lucky to have a claim on that." Mitchell cracks his neck and stretches his back. "His mind, however, was a greater feat. Thickly layered in all those walls. I had to worm my way through you just to get to him. You seem to be his weak point—or more or less the tie the two of you share."

Jim's gaze hardens as she says, "Where is he?"

"Safe," Mitchell sighs. "In a way of speaking. I'm not sure where he dropped, we can hope that it was in a safe place. I couldn't be bothered to locate his physical body. Didn't really need it with my _abilities,_" he says as he twiddles his fingers beside his temple.

"So this is your design. You could've done this all along," Jim supposes bitterly. "And that ship that mysteriously imploded on itself? That was you too?"

"Mudd delivered his end of his deal and served his purpose. You got the children and Mudd's services, unfortunately, were no longer required," Mitchell remarks. "Orders from the top, I'm afraid."

"And Yeomen Smith?"

"Easily dealt with but a mess nonetheless. She was quite upset when she learned her husband had been put down like a dog. I do agree that the methods I used were a bit—_harsh—_but I've always had a rather nasty temper," he explains listlessly as he calmly stops before her and folds his hands behind him in a relaxed militant manner. His cocky smirk makes her sick to her stomach, and she glares. "Couldn't very well have her spilling the beans before due time, now could I?"

"I thought you weren't the bad guy," Jim growls as her sticky blood soaked hands tighten into fists.

"I'm not," Mitchell retorts lightly. "I'm only servicing the bad guys. Rock and a hard place, really. I know it may not seem like it, but I do have a heart."

"Where is it?" she questions calmly as she stares down at her best friend. "I want to be sure I'm aiming in the right direction when I stab you through it."

Mitchell chuckles. "That's cute, but I'm sorry to inform you that my death will never be by your hands. I have, what you would call, an imperturbable agreement of sorts with an outside contractor."

"What did you do to him?" Jim demands as she keeps her eyes on Bones.

"Oh don't worry. He's not dead," Mitchell reassures cheerily. "Just sleep—like all the others. I figured it would make our departure easier. Mustn't keep the Mistress waiting, and all that."

"What the fuck is going on?" Jim growls as she stumbles to her feet. "Why is my ship—why is my _crew_ comatose?"

"I've already said, haven't I? It'll make our departure all the more easy. I'm told that you had an agreement with the Smokier. Your life in exchange for the lives of your crew. I doubt they would let me escort you down to Delta Vega without a fuss. And you have to acquiesce that comatose bodies are much more agreeable than dead bodies."

Jim clenches her jaw but she doesn't disagree.

Mitchell walks over and his eyes glows silver in concentration until the glass wall of Jim's cell begins to sink into the floor. "Come along, Captain. We can walk and talk. We're on a schedule and I'd hate to disappoint my benefactor," he says and starts off down the nearest corridor.

Jim reluctantly follows, stepping over Bones carefully and pressing her palm to his forehead in a silent goodbye before she follows after Mitchell.

"The ship is offline—dead. Nifty little trick of mine, so don't bother trying to shoot me down. That won't work either," Mitchell explains as he steps over bodies upon bodies of unconscious crewmembers. "Nothing works unless I will it."

"How do you even get this kind of power?" Jim asks as she mentally counts the number of bodies on the floors. So far she's at fifty and rising. They turn down a few more corridors.

"I've had it since I was a child—but that story can wait, Captain."

"What is a Smokier? Is it that thing that was inside of Smith, and Angela—and me?"

"Yes—after you," Mitchell gestures politely to the open doors of the turbolift. He steps on once she goes inside and as his eyes glow again, they begin to descend into the bowels of the ship. "Smokiers are practically an extinct race, dating back over a millennia. They are entities who, at a time, would skirt across the far reaches of the galaxy and consume the heart of stars. They're said to have been sired by Death in hopes to keep the natural balance of the galaxy. Stars used to reproduce at an unstable rate—"

"And the Smokiers took care of that," Jim supplies. "But they did it a little too well because now we have a decrease of stars—we're losing more than we're gaining. Is that why they moved onto humans?"

"You are a genius, Captain," Mitchell compliments. "With the appearance of man, their tastes turned. Not enough star hearts to go around, and so they skirted from their natural food group. Souls, to them, were all the sweeter, after all. I wouldn't really know but I'm merely sharing my basic knowledge of them. But I bet you can't workout just why they became extinct."

Jim says nothing, because she doesn't exactly have a clue.

"There's always a war beyond what we see, and powers we may never understand," Mitchell says as the turbolift opens to the lower deck and the main shuttle bay where all the escape pods lay. "The Smokier you've been housing for little over four months now is the last of its kind. And not for nothing. Just like me, it's entered into a contract with a formidable clan, whose talents even surpass my own."

Jim refrains from hitting Mitchell when he shoves her into the escape pod, only because she realizes that, unarmed, it would be a bad idea.

"Now, we've an hour before we touchdown, Captain," Mitchell remarks as his eyes glows and the pod activates, detaching itself from the Enterprise and out into space towards Delta Vega. "I'm sure you have many more questions, and seeing as how I'm ushering you to your death, I'll be gracious enough to answer all of them as much as I can."

Jim flashes him a sarcastic smile and presses away from him as much as she can, but the space of the escape pod is very limited. "Why the kids? Why was Mudd hired to get them?"

"He's quite competent in the fields of extraction, and the Mistress needed someone who wouldn't be traced back to her. After all, kidnapping royalty is never an easy thing—especially so when you have such close ties with them and I'm sure the exile wouldn't have helped her campaign either," Mitchell clarifies.

Jim frowns in confusion.

"Ah, right. You don't know about the exile. This would make this whole scenario much easier to understand, wouldn't it?" Mitchell quips casually. He leans back and laces his fingers over his stomach. "You know about the mirror verse, yes? And you know that's where those darling children you adore are from. Our moon, Earth's moon, is a mirror itself. The dark side of the moon is the opening in which all bridges are formed. It's dark because it's a reflection of the other side of the mirror. But in order to pass through, in order to activate a bridge, one needs a specific equation, boosted with the right technology. Once you can acquire it, you can follow the bridge to wherever you intend to go in the mirror verse. Now Earth on their side is called the High Master. It is the governing planet to all planets in the space of Simperion, which on our side, we refer to as the Milky Way.

"Civilization for them, on their side, has always been fast paced. I'm not quite sure of their timelines or history, but I know that they were out and about, exploring galaxies and studying and communicating with alien life-forms long before we even imagined such a thing or touched down on the moon. They've been to our side quite a few times, and left their marks in our history, just study the Seven Wonders and you'll see what I mean. Ah, but you probably wont have time. But nevertheless, the way they run things on their side is by way of monarchy. The High Master is considered an original thought and so all who are born on the planet are of regal blood and rank. Once they managed to advance their technology and create bio-stabilizers, they continued to multiply and build cities on any planet of their choosing. They're population on that side numbers into the trillions and even further because they have the power and technology to sustain such a thing. They're brilliant, every single last one of them. Those kids put on quite a show for you, pretending as if they didn't know much, but the truth is that they know more than you could ever hope to imagine. They were being polite and following a very known rule from their side. They cannot interfere with our timelines, just as we cannot steal from theirs.

"So, as you can understand, they come from royalty. They were born to the King and Queen of High Master, who acts as the judicial monarchs for every human-populated planet. The High Master is the origin for all the human species, and I'm told it's an honor to born on the planet—a privilege. The Mistress wasn't born there. She was born on Earth, so she was once human like you and I, and on Earth is where she met her future husband and would be king: Khan Noonien Singh. Khan, then, was known as Alexion Fen of the house of Upson," Mitchell says.

Jim inhales sharply because she recognizes the last name. "He's—related to the kids."

"Mm, yes. He's what you would call their great, great, many great Uncle. Born centuries ago, he was the eldest son, and by right, had claim to the throne. But he forfeited that right when he began crossing over onto our side and going to impoverished countries and treating the ill with an unsanctioned genetic code that he created himself. He was a lover of science, and he had a habit of playing God. I suppose that's what he was looking for—God's code. If one can understand the power of death and life—then one can call himself equal to God. He met my Mistress during an expedition through Poland. A severe degenerating outbreak had exploded and she was one of the leading doctors attempting to treat them. It wasn't looking good, and so many people were dying, even the doctors themselves. It was a close call with the government, who wanted to quarantine the area by means of genocide, just to protect the rest of the world. But Khan came and he turned the tide." Mitchell takes a moment to peer through the small window, out into the icy blue clouds of Delta Vega. They were a bit closer now. "Understand that this incidence has been covered up in the deepest secrets of our government. The Federation is prone to sweeping such situations under the rug.

"They viewed Khan as a threat, and he in turn responded in kind. The result was a Eugenics War. Khan wanted to prove that his knowledge and expertise in the area of genetics and biochemistry was unsurpassed—and incontrovertible." Mitchell's lips twist and his silver eyes darken. "His younger brother DeMarthus was the only one who could bring his brother under subjection. They were of the same blood and therefore equal in wits and strength. But his victory over his older brother was at a cost. Khan's involvement in the biological warfare on earth was unethical, and spoke volumes about his character and his people—or so both the Federation and the Simperion council thought. It was agreed that peace between these two universes would be kept at a stalemate as long as Khan and his accomplices were brought under subjection, and that any threat of the like be kept far from our reaches of space. Khan was brought home by all means necessary, charged on the soil of his home world and convicted under his own family's sigil. He was stripped of his name, and given a new one of his choosing. He chose Khan Noonien Singh, and him and his new clan were exiled into the Vortex—their bodies frozen in dead space. And the only bargaining chip Khan got out of all of it was that his wife would be spared, seeing as how she was not of their world.

"He knew what he was doing—Khan has a formidable tactical mind. He left her notes and instructions, and though its taken nearly two-hundred and fifty-five years," Mitchell murmurs lowly. "She's finally gained the means to bring Khan and his people back. Because we have you now, and a Smokier, and me." He exhales. "Any questions?"

"The kids—is it revenge? Is that why we crossed paths with them?"

"Yes," Mitchell answers simply.

"What's the Vortex?" Jim asks quietly, still taking in everything Mitchell's said and organizing it in her mind.

"A mathematically defined surface devoid of illumination and heat," Mitchell explains basically. "Think meat freezer without the light bulb and without gravity—and what's worse is that you're completely aware of everything."

Jim shifts and closes her eyes. She gives an opened-mouth sigh and says, "Why?" She opens her eyes to look directly at him. "Why are you helping? Clearly they're unstable people."

"And am I not unstable?" Mitchell counters. "Your scientists and doctors would keep me in a glass cage and treat me like an experiment. I never wanted the _abilities _I have—but then again, I was never given that choice." He smirks sadly. "A rare blood disease runs in my family, Captain. And it only affects the firstborn sons. It stays dormant for a good forty years. By then the process is almost excruciating. Flesh and bone deteriorates, and the mind turns on itself. Lucky for me, I caught it earlier on. I was three when it kicked in. Turns out being a twin has its disadvantages. My brother gained all the good, and I took all the bad. It should've been split between us, but for whatever reason it never worked out that way." Mitchell pauses to chuckle somberly. "I was three, and I was dying. And my parents were distraught. But then one day a mysterious woman came to our doorstep, and she promised she could save me. She didn't want anything in return, besides the privilege of being a constant in my life, my parents' silence, and their promise to push me into a Starfleet career. Now," he drawls. "As you can see—they fulfilled their side of the bargain. I'm alive and well—but not without a few _extra _attributes. Side effects of the blood transfusion she'd given me. At a cost to herself—she's weakened, but determined all the same.

"She molded and trained me. And together we waited. Though to be honest, I wanted no part in her mad schemes. I thought it unfair that I should suffer for a decision my parents made on my behalf because I was so young and unable."

"So why are you here? You could've walked away at anytime. Just because she gave you back your life, doesn't mean that she had the right to force you to do her bidding," Jim says, observing his shadowed face and gleaming silver eyes. "Why are you here?"

"I have a son," Mitchell confesses hoarsely. "A son I never meant to have because I knew what would happen if I did. But some things are unavoidable, and I knew that if doctors before now couldn't save generations upon generations of Mitchell men, then they surely could do no justice for my son. And love, Captain Kirk, is the most powerful motivator. So if I could do anything to keep my son from that fate, then I would, and I am. And as a repercussion, here I am. When I complete my end of the agreement, she'll do for him what she's done for me. He'll live we'll past a hundred, and I will never regret that."

Jim levels him with a thoughtful look. A sympathetic feeling seizes her heart and constricts it. She exhales shakily in the full silence that loops its way between them. "What's his name?" she asks quietly. "Your son."

Mitchell stares blankly out the small window as his mouth sets in a grim line. "Wallace," he says.

Jim uses her fingers to comb out her matted blonde bangs. "That's an awful name."

Mitchell snorts in surprise and turns his silver gaze towards her. "It is a shit name," he agrees. "But I couldn't convince his mother otherwise. Love a grandparent led her to name him that, I believe." He takes a moment to shrug as his shifts his gaze away as his lips curl into a fond grin. "It's not so bad, though. I'm the only one that gets to call him Wallie."

"Wallie," Jim echoes. "How old is he?"

"He'll be—" Mitchel pauses as his voice shakes. He clears his throat before he tries again. "He's thirteen now. He'll be fourteen come June. He's supposed to start high school in the fall. I would've liked to…" He trails off, and then goes completely silent. He huffs bitterly and shakes his head with a dry swallow. "What do you think of me now, I wonder," he speculates aloud.

Jim watches him carefully, and says, "I think you've been given a very shitty deal. Like me. And that you're a victim of circumstance."

"I would have to agree," Mitchell concurs with a sad smile. "So what's the verdict then, Captain. Can I be saved?"

Jim lowers her eyes to his chest.

"Yes," Mitchell mutters with a quick chuckle. "I hadn't thought so either."

The escape pod shakes as it passes through Delta Vega's atmosphere.

Jim stills her heart and steadies her breathing. She's preparing herself, because at this point, that's all she can do. She has no weapons, and she has no help coming. The only thing that's keeping her going is the hope that she can get the children out of this alive.

The escape pod lands with a jolt, and the door pops open. Instead of snow and ice ridden winds, a perfectly mild spring breeze filters in. Jim is confused, because the last time she was here, it was like being stranded in the middle of a snowstorm.

Mitchell climbs out first and helps Jim exit. Her feet touches down on grass, and upon further inspection, they've landed in a pasture of wild flowers enclosed by a set of purple mountains. It'd be gorgeous if it were any other circumstance, and it makes the reality of the situation clamp down hard on Jim's heart.

"This way, Captain," Mitchell instructs, doing an about-face and trekking over to the steep incline of a pit.

Jim follows and almost stumbles down into the deeply rounded dirt hole. In the middle of this stadium-wide hovel is Dr. Elizabeth Dehner, along with a teary-eyed Jasel and Leona, who are looming over a seizure-ridden Riesa. Jim swallows and clenches her fists until her nails bite into the skin of her palm.

"Well it certainly took you long enough, Gary," Dr. Dehner scoffs as she continues using the long steel blade in her hand to carve strange symbols into the soil. "Any longer and it would have been too late."

"I really wish you wouldn't complain, it was not an easy exploit," Mitchell grumbles and stands off to the side to make himself scarce. "She's here, isn't she?"

"Right you are," Dr. Dehner says in a distracted fashion before she tosses the blade to him. He easily catches it. She huffs and uses her hands to smooth out the wrinkles of her dirt stained uniform. She sniffs and tucks her cropped blonde hair behind her ears before she looks at Jim with a clinical smile. "Captain Kirk—what a pleasure it is to have you joining us. You must be surprised."

"A little," Jim admits through clenched teeth, keeping the kids within her sight from the corner of her eyes. "But I suppose I really should have known something when you tried to poison me with that tea."

"Oh that," Dr. Dehner swats her hand carelessly, as if Jim was an annoying fly. "I was merely testing a theory. And you proved me right, so here we are." She takes a moment to glance at the watch on the inside of her wrist and looks up. A slow smile stretches her thin lips. "It's almost time."

Jim frowns and looks up, noticing the large reddish-purple-white magnetic storm cloud looming just outside the planet's atmosphere. The bolts of lightening lashing out from it were abnormally large and jagged.

"Captain Kirk, if you would," Dr. Dehner says with eerie politeness as she gestures to a mark-free space that surrounded by the symbols she's carved into the ground.

"I won't lay down until you assure me that you won't hurt them," Jim stalls as Dr. Dehner's grey eyes flicker over to the children.

"And why should I? That was never apart of our agreement."

"I didn't make an agreement with you."

"So why should I feel so inclined?"

Jim glares. "I'm not asking much."

"Oh but you are, Captain," Dr. Dehner says with a mocking sympathetic expression. "My business with them has nothing to do with you."

"I'm not moving until you make it my business," Jim stubbornly contends.

Dr. Dehner's expression becomes shadowed, and she says, "My husband is worth more than those little weeds."

"I disagree," Jim simply retorts. "I heard about the kind of man your husband is, and I have to say, I don't think it's worth going through all this trouble for him."

"How, dare, you," Dr. Dehner says thunderously. "You have no right to patronize my love life when you have such little success in your own. Do you know how many people my husband has saved? Millions. And for what reason? To be blasphemed some little blue eyed whore. He came to our aid and _they _repaid him in disrespect."

"He started a genocidal war," Jim snaps.

"Is that all you think?" Dr. Dehner says flatly. "I'd reconsider that point of view because you don't have all the facts. We had a child together. We named her Grace. We loved her, because she was perfect in every way, and she was smart. She was _three. _They shot our daughter like a dog, and she was _three_. For what? To send us a message that no matter what we did to ourselves, we would still be unable to cheat death," she says, voice hoarse with emotion. "We couldn't even bring her back, because they burnt her body. Do you understand how ironic that is? My husband finally solved the genetic code of being life. And it did us no good because they took her from us and burnt her like she was a tyrant. And so, of course, logically, the only form of retaliation that best suited the situation was to start a war. To bring them only a _fraction_ of the _pain_ that they sowed unto us. And when we brought them to their knees, my husband's own brother, his _own _people, the ones who should have supported our cause, rose up against him, robbed him of his rightful vengeance and exiled him into the Vortex."

"That is an awful thing to have happened to you. But that was generations ago," Jim points out calmly. "These kids had nothing to do with that. It was their ancestors. Not them."

Dr. Dehner smiles cruelly. "I promise you—when my love returns, your precious Federation will fall. And Earth will be consumed in fire—and a new Earth will be born. A new mankind. A better one." She sighs pleasantly. "Now you can either lie down or I will make you."

Jim doesn't move.

"Right. You are a stubborn one." Dr. Dehner snaps her fingers at Mitchell. "Bring me the girl."

Mitchell strides over to Riesa, and pries her from an aggressively protesting Jasel. His eyes flash silver and an invisible force field knocks Jasel and Leona back.

"Mitchell, don't you hurt her," Jim warns lowly.

"He's not going to hurt her," Dr. Dehner assures. "Because you're going to lie down like I asked you to, and maybe I'll consider setting my nieces and nephew free after we're finished here with you."

There's no guarantee, Jim notes. It makes her nervous. She glances at Mitchell, but his face is as blank as ever. Jim's a natural fighter—she is. But fighting will not serve a worthy cause in this case, and she made a promise. She looks up and squints her eyes against the white sky to see if she can make out her ship. It's a small dot, but she can see it vaguely and something like sadness flushes out the courage still lingering in the deepest space of her heart. She feels like a failure in this moment—like she didn't do enough. She could've done more, and the fact along inflates her inside with anger until she's grinding her teeth.

"Tick-tock, Captain," Dr. Dehner states patiently with another glance to her wristwatch. "Gary, get the girl to kneel."

Mitchell places his tan hands on Riesa's small shoulders and presses down gently until she's on her knees on the outside of the symbols that are placed like clockwork outside an empty space long enough for a body.

Jim pulls her gaze back down and lands it on Jasel and a teary-eyed Leona. She gives them a small reassuring smile and says, "Take care of your sisters. And—get Spock to take you home, okay? Tell him it was my final order."

"Jester—" Jasel chokes on his words, and he looks so angry and miserable. "Jim, you made a vow."

"And I'm keeping it," Jim replies, doing her best to keep the tremor out of her voice. "You don't need me anymore, Jasel."

"I do," Jasel begs hoarsely.

Jim just gives him another sad smile as she backs up until she's in the empty space in the middle of the symbols carved in the ground. She lowers herself to the soil and lays herself until she staring up at the white sky. She keeps her focus on the tiny dot that is her ship and away from the reddish-purple-white storm cloud with whiplash lightening closing in.

"Well, now," Dr. Dehner sighs with a pleasant quip. "There we are." She glances at her watch again. "Okay. I think now would be the best time to start." She steps forward and places a small hand on the crown of Riesa's head. "I speak to the Smokier within. _Domina vocem Domini Dei tui. Super terram, et sub astris, clamavi fumum. _Come out. It's time."

Riesa's small body begins to tremble and she lets out a soft moan as her chin lifts to the sky while her jaw falls open. Her eyes widen and she lets out a long breath of black smoke until it pours onto the ground and structures itself in the shape of a man. When the last of the smoke exits Riesa, her skin resumes its normal pallor and she falls to her side and passes out.

Dr. Dehner rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Dramatic," she mutters and snaps her finger at Mitchell. "Get her, and take them out of range."

Mitchell nods with one last glance at Jim before he picks Riesa and tosses her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He grunts at Jasel and Leona with a gesture for them to stand and follow. They do with one last reluctant look at Jim as their faces become wrought with mournful expressions. Together they climb the steep incline of the stadium-wide dirt pit until they stand at the top and peer down.

"For your peace of mind, Captain—I'll explain to you how this works," Dr. Dehner says as she begins to round the circle of symbols. "The magnetic polarity of the anomaly overhead is contaminated with the ions needed to create a mildly stable time-rift, which will therefore provide me with the means to retrieve my husband." She continues to circle Jim as she goes on to say, "My obedient little Smokier here, being a native of the Vortex, will use the transport symbols I've carefully positioned to navigate the time-rift in the direction of the Vortex, and you, my dear, are the most essential part of this equation. You see, the Vortex is dead space, and well, I don't know how vast your knowledge of science-magic is, but I'll keep it simple. People who are in a vegetative state often act as doorways to the preternatural realm the human eye is unable to detect. Unfortunately for you, what that means is that you'll have to become brain dead in order for us to sustain the portal long enough to drag my husband through. So, you see, you won't really be dead, but it'll be a close thing. And honestly, if I were you, I would wish to be—because who could suffer in sanity, trapped and bound within the labyrinth of their own minds, forced to relive every single moment of their lives over and over again?"

Jim starts to tremble as tears begin to gather at the edge of her eyes, spilling over and down to her ears. If she wasn't afraid before, she is now. And there isn't much she can do because she feels an invisible weight pinning her down by her bones to the spot where she lays. Her breath stutters as her eyes warm with more tears until she's hiccupping in an attempt to swallow back her sobs. Dr. Dehner is uttering sharp words of nonsense and the Smokier begins to circle over the symbols like a black vortex that expands up to the translucent clouds dipping down from the anomaly above. It penetrates the atmosphere and continues its descent until it joins with the black vortex of the Smokier. Dr. Dehner quickly removes herself from the area and places herself beside Mitchell and the children, and they all stand on the outer edge of the dirt pit, watching.

Jim's breathing picks up until she's practically panting. She's blinking away tears and staring up at the luminescent heart of the anomaly, and the oxygen of this cloudy funnel is getting thinner and thinner until Jim's gasping for air and writhing against her invisible restraints. She's weeping as she gasps and sobs out incoherent apologies. She's scared, so scared—she's not ready to die, not like this. She wants Bones—she wants him so bad. She wants to hear his husky southern drawl telling her it's going to be okay, holding her hand and helping her ride it out. She's crying for him—sobbing and weeping and gasping and writhing. She wants Sarek. She wants the warm gaze of Prime Spock. She wants Spock to take all the fear away so she can sail through this rationally. She wants to be saved. She wants to be _saved._

She's so afraid.

Darkness is creeping in her line of vision and she pants out a few more desperate sobs that's drowned out by a crack of thunder and echoing roar that sounds like groaning steel. She feels her consciousness slipping under the tide of the storm and the harsh winds until slowly she's sinking into the dark recesses of her own mind. She cries weakly as the last set of tears fall down to her ears and she tightens her hands around a fistful of dirt until her vision swirls. She prays to whoever and whatever can hear her that she'll just die fully and completely. She'd rather be fully dead than half-alive.

Being dead is better than reliving her childhood over and over again.

Jim whines out a mumbled sob of Bones's name before she goes completely still.

888

Gary watches with a twitch of guilt as Captain Kirk goes completely still in the midst of the translucent vortex. He hears the girl sob and from the corner of his eye he sees the boy tighten his fists in anger. Gary hopes that the kid won't do anything stupid. Elizabeth looks to be in an almost gleeful mood as she watches the absolute success of her ritual. She might actually be generous enough to let the kids live, but Mitchell doubts it. Elizabeth's never been rational. He just wants to get this over and done with so he can go home and be with his son, and to not think on all the terrible things he had to do in order for it to be that way.

There's a final crack in the sky and the clouds clear out into a fog. The ritual is complete. The Smokier is dead—and Khan—

Khan is successfully retrieved, but nowhere in sight.

"Where is he?" Gary asks as he sets the unconscious sister at the feet of her brother and sister.

"Oh don't fret, Gary," Elizabeth says with an elated tone. "He's safe. On Earth I presume—at least that's where I had the Smokier send him as a precaution. It may take a year or two for him to thaw out and regain his strength, but it will be well worth it."

"Right," Gary says simply and clears his throat as he straightens the line of his shoulders. He avoids looking at Captain Kirk's body lying motionless at the middle of the pit. "Well, I've fulfilled my side of the bargain."

"Yes, I'm aware, Gary," Elizabeth drawls as she lifts a finely arched eyebrow in his direction. "Is that supposed to mean something?"

"My son," Gary grits out. "You promised you would—"

"That was never a promise," Elizabeth interjects calmly. "I said that I would see what I could do for him. And right now, he's not my main focus."

"He is mine," Gary retorts. "And I want what you promised. You know that I can't do it myself. Giving him my blood would just be redundant and it wouldn't render the disease null. I had to find that out the hard way, because instead of stalling it, the process was just sped along."

Elizabeth snorts as she eyes the children. "I told you not to attempt anything. I warned you, and now it's your own fault." She turns with every intention of heading to the escape pod. "My priority is my husband, first and foremost. If he happens to recover before your son dies, then I'll see what I can do. Until then you can return home and _wait_."

"No."

"Oh relax, Gary. Take the little scamp to Disney or something, for god sakes, just stop whining to me about it," Elizabeth snaps as she levels him with a glare.

"No," Gary insists. "We're not leaving," he warns as the ground starts to quake. "Until you give me what I worked for."

Elizabeth's eyes flash silver as her mouth sets into a grim line. "Don't test me, Gary. I've been like a second mother to you. You know better than to push me," she warns as the sky begins to rumble with storm clouds.

Gary just stares at her as his own eyes bleed silver. "I should have never listened to you. I should have never helped you with any of this."

"But you did and it's too late," Elizabeth chirps mockingly. "So don't think for a second that you'll come out of this okay—because if you do anything to me—_he _will find you. And he will rip you apart."

"Not if I do it myself," Gary says flatly, and the ground begins to freeze over with snow and ice. "I'm asking one last time. Give me what I was promised."

Elizabeth just smiles darkly as the sky begins pouring thick batches of snow.

"So be it," Gary decides and concentrates on the steel blade in the pit. He aims it for Elizabeth's wrists and he uses the sharp blade to decapitate her left hand from her arm.

Elizabeth screams and falls to her knees as blood spurts from her wrist.

Gary summons the severed hand with a grim face. "Getting a little old are we, Elizabeth? I was sure you'd see that coming. I was almost looking forward to working for it. What a disappoint this is."

Elizabeth just continues to yell out in pain as she clings to her injured arm. "I will rip you apart!"

"Oh please try. I'll do my best to return the courtesy," Gary simply says and tosses her severed hand over to Jasel. "Take that back with you. Give it to the Doctor, and tell him to keep it fresh long enough to have it transported to my son's hospital. Wallace Mitchell. East Bay Children's hospital. Repeat that back."

"Wallace M-Mitchell. East B-Bay Children's H-Hospital," Jasel chatters as he shakes against the cold and icy wind. "K-keep it f-fresh."

"Can your sister drag her twin to the escape pod?"

"Y-yes—I think."

"Be sure, because you'll need all the strength you can gather to drag the Captain's body out of that pit. Can you do _that_?"

Jasel trembled but nodded his head hastily. He gives his conscious sister the severed hand to take.

"I know you're still developing your powers—but for the Captain's sake, try really hard to get her to that pod as fast as you can. I'll do the rest. I'll send you back to the ship, put it back online." Gary exhales and his breath appears on the wind as his silver eyes gleam like liquid metal. "The Captain can be saved. Her Vulcan can see to that. But if she should ask you about my change of heart, tell her—" Gary pulls up an image of his smiling son in his mind. "I don't know. It's just one of those things."

Elizabeth stumbles to her feet, her face paling by the second because of the heavy blood loss. "You—will not—go anywhere," she hisses at the children as she staggers in their direction.

"I think they can," Gary retorts calmly and sends a wall off snow her way that she manages to deflect but barely. "How about we die together, ey, _mother?_"

Elizabeth glares daggers in his directions as her eyes blaze with silver.

888

Jasel sniffs as he slides down the steep incline of the pit and hastily makes his way over to Jim. She's lying motionless on her back, face and lips pale, blue eyes dulled to a powder blue like crushed chalk. She looks like a corpse. Her lips are as grey and as white as the rest of her skin. Her gaze is dead and set on the sky.

Jasel hates it.

He hates it with all his heart. He'd give anything to see those bright blues brim to the rim with life again—with energy and cunning cleverness and kindly warmth.

He misses her.

He's angry with her.

Why does she have to be such a martyr? Why must she try to save others before she even thinks about saving herself?

Jasel shakes off his emotions to concentrate on alleviating Jim's weight so he can carry her to the escape pod. He flinches as he hears an array of booms and zaps that must be the minion Mitchell and his Great Aunt Elizabeth battling it out. He closes his eyes and exhales as his irises warm and shifts into a bright honey-gold color. He then tacks his golden eyes on the body of Jim and focuses really hard until she begins to levitate off the ground. He grabs her and puts her over his shoulder while keeping his attention on maintaining her weight to be equal to that of a feather. It works, but his concentration fizzles now and again, causing him to stumble as he treks through rising snow, and icy wind that nearly tips them over.

Jasel wishes that he would hit puberty already. If he'd hit it ages ago, this wouldn't be a problem. But he's always been late bloomer—something the other pre-teens in his court loved to tease him about. As if he didn't have enough trouble proving himself and his claim to the throne. If he'd been stronger, better—he could have protected his sisters, and Jim, and everyone she loved.

"Jasel, hurry!" Leona yells from the mouth of the escape pod. "Riesa's starting to wake up and the ground is cracking open!"

Jasel looks down to see that she's right. There are a jagged crevices opening up randomly all across the ground. He knows he can't maintain this weight shift much longer, and he tries to move as fast as he can. When he reaches the escape pod, Leona helps him pull Jim in, and she's set by a groggy Riesa who's slowly coming to. He climbs in and snaps the door shut.

_Mitchell. We're all here._

**_Right. Sending you back. Good luck._**

Jasel hesitates as the pod shakes and rises from the ground before he thinks: _Thank you._

Mitchell does not reply.

Jasel isn't surprised. He wasn't expecting one.

"Oh Lady Jim," Leona whispers into Jim's temple woefully. "Please come back to us."

"She can't hear you," Jasel mumbles. "She's too deep inside herself. I know you feel it too."

Leona nods as hot tears spill out over her cheeks.

Riesa groans and calls for them. Jasel wiggles over to her—the space in the pod is very limited. He sits beside her and lets Riesa curl into him as she mumbles nonsense—still dazed by the day's events. He lifts his gaze to the window just as the pod ascends past the white clouds of the planet to see rivers of lava peaking through the ever crumbling and widening cracks. He knows without knowing that Mitchell will not survive the core surge—but he must have known that.

"Should we pray to the Everlasting for him?" Leona asks with a hoarse voice.

"He was a terrible man like Mudd," Jasel replies stiffly.

"Yes. But it is not for us to condemn the wicked," Leona counters.

Jasel doesn't say anything for a while, but then, "Save your prayers for Lady Jim. She's the one that needs it. She is the one that deserves it."

"My prayers are not a supply. I will pray for both," Leona decides as she closes her eyes while she strokes her fingers through Jim's blood-soaked blonde tress.

Jasel scowls, even though he knows she can't see, and looks at Jim for a moment. Her eyes are still wide and dull. He can't stand it. "Leona—her eyes…"

Leona blinks and glances down. "I know," she says. "I think it helps. She hates the dark—I can feel it."

Jasel tears his gaze away and he doesn't argue. He strokes his fingers through Riesa's hair and gently shushes her as she trembles. It'll be a long while before she'll be able to sleep, Jasel knows this. She's the most vulnerable and sensitive one out of all of them. It's most likely the reason the Smokier choose her as a vessel.

It takes a whole hour before they reach the ship. Once or twice the pod would stutter and putter along. Jasel tries not to think about what it means. He can see the gleaming planet—its almost completely covered in lava now. He doesn't want to think about the amount of pain Mitchell must have been in before he died. He doesn't want to think about how long Mitchell must have held on in order to get them safely boarded back onto the ship.

_We're here now, _he thinks at Mitchell. He doesn't know if it does any good.

He helps his sisters exit the pod first and they help him pull Jim out. In a matter of seconds the ship begins to light up and whirr to life with the busy hum of machinery. Their technology is a bit dated; Jasel had noticed it upon first arrival. It was a bit amusing the way Jim had treated them like idiots. Well, perhaps not like idiots—more like children who couldn't comprehend much. It's part of the reason why he'd been so hostile with her in the first place—he doesn't hold that against her now. She doesn't know about the world they come from.

They set her gently on the floor, and Leona goes to find an active interface screen so as to flag down some help. She returns moments later, and says, "I got someone."

"What do you mean you got someone?" Jasel says, albeit a bit tetchily.

Leona rolls her eyes at her brother. "Settle down, Jasel. It's someone good."

"_May I have your attention, please?"_ a thick Russian voice says over the PA as Leona grins happily. "_This is Ensign Chekov calling Doctor McCoy to main shuttle bay for medical emergency. We have located the Keptin!_"

"See?" Leona says with an endearing grin that's neither smug nor arrogant.

Jasel nods and fights back an answering smile. His little sisters have a peculiar affect on his attitude. "How long do you think they've been awake?"

"Not sure," Leona says honestly as she hugs a drowsy Riesa close. "Maybe the same moment Mitchell activated our pod for us." She looks over at Jim, who's lying face-up on her back and staring blankly at the ceiling. "They must have gone crazy over themselves looking for her."

"It should've proven to be a challenge, since their power hadn't activated until we were reattached to the ship," Jasel supposes and sees a unit of security officers trudging behind Doctor McCoy and a few nurses. He moves out of the way when Doctor McCoy reaches them and falls on his knees beside Jim, looking absolutely devastated.

"She's still alive," Leona reassures quickly, before the Doctor has a chance to weep in sorrow. "But there are—complications."

"She sacrificed her sanity, and her cognitive functioning," Jasel goes on to explain. "For all of us. For the safety of everyone."

"Damn fool," Doctor McCoy grumps, but there is a fond edge to it. "She's always doin' this. I swear it'd do my weak heart some good to just bind her up in bubble wrap and lock her in a padded room."

"Oh I don't think Lady Jim would go for it, Doctor," Leona reasons in that childlike way of hers.

Doctor McCoy finally lifts his red-rimmed hazel eyes from Jim to look at Leona with a chuckle laced in irony. "Yeah—I suppose that's true." He takes a moment to sigh and nods to his male nurses. "Get her up on a gurney. I can't do anything for her here."

A group of three male nurses gently situate her on a gurney and began walking her to sickbay.

Jasel scrambles to follow as Doctor McCoy carefully lifts Riesa in his arms and treks on. He is relieved when the Doctor spares his time for Riesa first. He assures him and Leona that Riesa is just fine, only tired, and mildly dehydrated. He gives her a gentle sedative that will help her rest and a combatant to cure the dehydration. As he does so, Jasel recites the events as detailed and as best as he can. He leaves out the part about his Great Uncle Khan, trusting that Jim will explain things better than he could ever hope to.

Doctor McCoy takes it all in with a furrowed brow and an incredulous scowl. He even takes the severed hand places in a sustaining capsule and places it in his office. Although he is very reluctant about it, he still does it nonetheless.

Leona sits at the head of Riesa's biobed with Riesa's head in her lap as she sleeps.

Jasel takes a seat on the right side of the bed so he can keep both his sisters and Jim in view, but once Doctor McCoy gets to work on the vivacious Captain, he conceals the area in a blue medical curtain. Jasel frowns.

"It'll be alright, Jasel," Leona assures. She strokes her fingers through her sister's hair gently and turns her head to the other side of the room when she notices Commander Spock's timely entrance. "Hm, the Doctor must have called and told him what Mitchell said."

"Yes. Quite," Jasel murmurs as he watches Commander Spock disappear behind the curtain. "I don't think it'll be enough, though. Even with Lord Spock's help, it may take years to retrieve her. If we could just go home, our Healers could aid him in speeding the process along."

Leona thoughtfully nods in agreement before she pulls her gaze back down to her sister. "It would be nice," she quietly says. "And I am so ready to go home."

Jasel chews on his bottom lip as he watches the motionless curtain uncertainly. He curls his fingers over the arms of his chair until he comes to a firm decision. He exhales carefully and stands to his feet. "We're going home."

Leona gives a smile brighter than the sun.

888

Spock rarely is overtaken with concern. But as he casts his gaze upon Jim, it is unavoidable. She lays rigid upon the biobed as though some type of paralysis afflicted her. Her normally sun-kissed skin is now an ashen white. Her water blue eyes are dull and dilated, staring up at the bulkheads and into nothing. It is a most upsetting sight, and he feels wholly responsible for it. After all, it is his job to provide his captain with a means of protection—yet in this instance he was unable to do so. The tidal wave that was Lieutenant Mitchell's psionic attack on the ship was both unexpected and unalterable.

There is not much he can recall during his enforced refractory period. The most troublesome effect of all was the fact that Jim's end of the link had waxed cold. It is an odd thing because ever since he opened himself to the bond, her fluctuating emotions are all he can sense in the coming days. He has finally found an acceptable medium in which to navigate and attune himself to her mood patterns, which in turn has improved their work relationship by almost seventy-three percent. She has no doubt noticed, but has been reluctant to broach the subject. The bond has given Spock an understanding about Jim, and in turn, he is able to maintain his patience during their verbal exchanges. His sense of her has become a habit, and now that he can no longer feel her there, it's nearly disrupting to his equilibrium.

Spock provides Doctor McCoy with his full attention as he recants Jasel's personal narrative concerning the events that occurred on Delta Vega between Jim, Mitchell and Dr. Dehner. A small sensation comparable to ire and fury manifests within him before he can properly regulate the sentiments. It is unavoidable, however.

"Well at least the problem with Mitchell and Dehner has resolved itself. Never was too keen on those two anyway—and this just proved my gut feeling true," Doctor McCoy grumbles as he continues to wave his medical tricorder up and down Jim's motionless body, studying the results on the large flat screen of the biofunction monitor.

"Indeed," Spock concurs. "And your thoughts on the Captain's condition?"

Doctor McCoy doesn't answer right away. He goes on examining the results across the biofunction screen until he sighs. "Well. It's not good. Not good at all, I'm afraid. Her vitals are dangerously below the norm, and sinking."

"She's trapped inside herself," Jasel explains. He's standing at the mouth of the curtain, and his eyes are focused on Jim. He swallows and forcibly turns his gaze to Spock. "Mitchell said that you could help. And I believe you can as well. My sisters and everyone else may not be able to sense the link between you two, but I can. Just as Mitchell did. And if you can keep her from slipping away long enough for us to travel and reach my home world, she can be saved. We have Healers that are trained in advanced medicine that is at least over a dozen centuries later than yours. They can help—but you have to take us home. I can show you the way."

Spock shares a small glance with Doctor McCoy.

"Might be worth a shot, Commander," Doctor McCoy says with a shrug as he looks down at Jim's wide unresponsive blue eyes. "Hell, I'll try anything at this point, because I can't do a thing for her as is. It's like voodoo. Or a strange kind of coma." He looks to Spock for an answer.

"Very well," Spock decides as he gives Doctor McCoy a measured look. He then turns his focus onto Jasel. "You will find Ensign Chekov and Chief Engineer Scott on the bridge. If you provide them with the coordinates, they may be able to direct the ship in that due course."

Jasel smiles and drops it just as quickly to take on a more subdued expression. "I won't let her down, Lord Spock. Please assure me that you will do the same."

Spock is vaguely amused by Jasel's protectiveness over Jim. He nearly reminds him of his own self in his youth with his mother. But the sentiment that Jasel is displaying is much more complex. Though he hides it well, he is evidently enamored with Jim, and though it may be bold for Spock to assume, he imagines that if Jasel were older, he would certainly petition for Jim's hand in marriage. It is a curious response that Jim often inspires and invokes in many species it seems.

"I will do what is in my power to do," Spock assures.

Jasel nods in satisfaction. He exits a moment later and leaves Spock with the Doctor.

"So," Doctor McCoy injects, breaking the silence. "I think you oughta get to it, Spock. Do the whole mind-meld thing."

Spock quirks an eyebrow. "Doctor, I do not believe you understand what you are proposing. To ask me to physically join with the Captain's mind in open view is the human equivalent of public intercourse."

Doctor McCoy flushes in mortification.

"I presume that we both would agree that would be inexplicably forward of me, seeing as how I am already in a committed relationship," Spock continues, silently enjoying the Doctor's flabbergasted response, all the while keeping both a neutral face and tone. "I will able to unite our minds in a less intimate manner through meditation within the privacy of my own quarters. I trust this amendable."

Doctor McCoy mutters a set of expletives that Spock finds disagreeable, but the Doctor silently nods nonetheless.

Spock exits the infirmary promptly after, and heads for his living quarters. Once inside, he is understandably surprised to see Nyota sitting on his bed and waiting for him.

"How is she?" Nyota asks carefully. "That's where you went first isn't it? To check on her?"

"Yes," Spock says cautiously. He cannot read much from her expression, nor her eyes, and this causes him to be unsure of where he stands.

Nyota snorts bitterly and shakes her head. "Right," she says quietly. "You know, I was here too. Just like everyone else." She shrugs. "I woke up on the ground, and felt so disoriented. And in the few moments after that, even more confused—even as I participated in the ship-wide search for Captain Kirk. Because here I am, waiting and waiting. Thinking to myself, any moment now, he'll come. He'll come and find me and reassure himself that I'm okay. But it never happened, and I realized something." She strokes her thumb across her bottom lip as she goes on to say, "I could have died. All of us could have died. There won't always be a second-chance for me or my life, so I have to make the most of the time I'm blessed with now. And that means I have to start making the tough decisions that, in the long haul, will benefit me. And I'm sorry to say, what we have isn't." She gives another mild shrug. "I'm fine, by the way. In case you're wondering."

Spock stiffens and feels an onslaught of guilt. "Nyota—of course. I apologize. I intended to—"

"No, it's okay," Nyota says with a sad smile. "I completely understand. I wasn't the first on your mind and that kind of hurts. But I understand. So with that being said, I'm going to do both of us a favor, and call it a wrap on this relationship."

"Nyota, I confess to some confusion," Spock states truthfully as his brow furrows. "You claim to understand, yet you have decided to terminate our relationship without verifying my opinion on the matter."

Nyota just chuckles and stands, shortening the distance between them in three steps and gently patting his cheek. She softly swipes her thumb across his cheek and says, "One day, I think you'll thank me. And honestly, I think I'll even thank myself. Just please, Spock, if you hold any affection for me, you'll let me end this, and you'll give me space. I will always be your friend, but I need time."

Spock studies her face and gives a subtle nod.

Nyota's eyes water and she leans up to hug his shoulders. When they separate, she kisses him on the corner of his mouth and smiles. She squeezes his shoulders one final time before she takes a step back. "Good luck, Spock—in everything in your life. And if you ever want to talk, my ears are all yours. I love you, and hope only happiness for you—especially with Jim." She smiles briefly and exits the room before he can counter her remarks.

Spock is left to his thoughts.

_Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping._

Spock glances over and notes the flat panel monitor atop his desk is illuminated with a notification. Upon further inspection, he discovers that it is his father hailing him. When he accepts the transmission, his father does not even bother with formal greetings.

"James has a depraved habit of placing herself in unsavory situations," Sarek perplexedly complains. "She has, once again, disrupted my mental facilities in the most disquieting manner. I am almost reluctant to ascertain what she has done this time."

Spock outlines the situation as quickly and as concisely as possible. He will not admit to being antsy—the time he is using to explain things to his father is time that could have been put to better use in regards to Jim.

"I apologize, I am keeping you," Sarek realizes. "You will contact me—you will _both _contact me when she is made well again. I dislike of her methods of gallantry, and I wish to confer this."

"I hold no uncertainty that she will welcome such an exchange," Spock remarks with a subtle twitch of his lips.

Sarek levels him with a stare. "I do not find you humorous," he simply states.

"That was not my intention," Spock counters innocently.

"Peace and long live, my son," Sarek says, holding up his hand in a parting gesture. "I trust you will be successful in retrieving James."

Spock inclines his head in silent thanks.

After the screen goes blank, he rises from his seat and begins to light a few sticks of incense and dims the lights. He sends a notification to the bridge that he will be unavailable until they have reached their destination, and requests not to be disturbed. He also sends a quick notification to Doctor McCoy, encouraging the Doctor to continue monitoring Jim and to keep him updated on her condition. He also adds in the message that he will try to periodically alleviate himself from Jim's mind to study her condition progress in order to deviate what methods are working best.

After he takes the precaution of locking his quarters from any outside access, he sits above a floor mat and folds his legs under him, placing his hands palms-down over his knees. He concentrates on his breathing as he lowers every barrier carefully. His lids lower as he sinks into the recesses of his mind and seeks out the bond. When he finds it, he notices that it has grown thicker since the last time he observed it. He briefly wonders over it before he presses on until he's caught in the funnel of shimmering gold. It sucks him in invitingly, almost like a siren's call, and spits him out on the other side. He falls into her mind like a cool breeze, and when he opens his eyes, he notices that he's sitting on top of a slanted roof under a vastly starry sky beside a thirteen-year-old Jim.

Jim's hugging her left knee as her long blonde hair pours over her shoulder and down to her knee like a corn yellow waterfall. Her ocean blue eyes are tacked to the stars in a gaze of wonder and longing. She's wearing faded overall shorts with a red tank-top underneath and some worn sneakers with her initials on the sole.

"Johnny-Boy don't know nothin' about the constellations," she says suddenly as she keeps her gaze lifted to the sea of stars frozen in equilibrium in the murky swamp of a sky. "He's says that he knows all there is to know about every one of them. But I think he just said that because Mrs. Talbot embarrassed him in front of the entire class. I mean, all she asked him to do was to name Orion the Hunter's two brightest stars." She pauses to scratch the side of the nose. "So I felt bad, because he just stood there like a block of ice and all the kids started laughing at him." She shrugs and picks at the hem of her overall shorts as she listlessly searches the sky. "I stood up. Looked Mrs. Talbot right in the eye. And I said Orion the Hunter's brightest stars are Betelgeuse and Rigel. She didn't really like that I said that—though she's never liked me ever since I corrected her methods of problem solving with Geometry. She really is no good at it." She finally looks at Spock. "What's your favorite constellation?"

"I have no preference," Spock states.

Jim rolls her eyes. "Oh don't be boring. Of course you do," she insists. She sits up on her knees and cocks her head. "Hey, are you a Vulcan?"

"Yes."

"Wow. That's like majorly wicked cool," Jim gushes as she bounces in excitement. "I've always wanted to meet one. Though this girl at my school caught me reading up on you guys at recess and called me stupid and said I was wasting my time because you're all just boring unemotional elves, and I may have punched her as a way of showing that I had a differing opinion. Okay. I _totally _punched her. But she deserved it because she was wrong. I mean look at you! Your ears are amazing. I'm almost jealous."

"Jealousy over another's biology is illogical. You are designed as you were meant to be," Spock remarks and doesn't miss the way Jim rolls her eyes but flushes slightly.

"It was a compliment. Geez. Don't be so stiff. I mean, I like you, but you're like all—" Jim takes a moment to stick out her tongue and cross her eyes as she waves her arms ridiculously. She stops with a huff and says, "You know?"

"I do not," Spock replies and shifts his body so that his line of focus is on the rows and rows of cornfield. He surmises that he's fallen into a memory of her hometown, and clearly this is where her consciousness is currently residing. "Jim—what is your current age?"

"What do you mean?" Jim retorts, giving him a look that says what she thinks of his intelligence. "I'm thirteen and a half. And how do you know my name?"

"You do not remember me," Spock states rather than asks.

"Should I have?" Jim counters and begins to braid her long hair. "What's your name anyway?"

"I am called Spock."

"Spock," Jim echoes as she combs the braid out of her hair with her fingers. Spock notes that she has a hard time remaining still, nor does she seem able to make up her mind about what she desires to do with her hands. This habit, he perceives, has followed her into adulthood. "Odd name, but it's leveled with mine. Hm. James, you know? Weird for a girl, but maybe my folks knew how I'd be. Or maybe they didn't know I'd be girl." She shrugs again. "I just don't like the thought of being named after men I barely knew, you know?"

Spock says nothing.

"So what's your favorite constellation, Spock?" Jim says as she leans back on her elbows and snaps the tops of her sneakers together like a handclap. "Mine is Camelopardalis. Only because the inspiration was a giraffe. Now what's yours?"

"I have stated before that I hold no preference."

"Well, pretend that you do," Jim says with a snarky tone and gives him a grin that's all teeth.

"That would be highly illogical."

"So?" Jim says, raising an eyebrow with a careless shrug. "It's the—"

_Crash._

"…you hiding at you little shit? Come out here!"

_Thump. Thump. Crash._

Spock watches the way Jim sits up and curls into herself, hugging her legs close and pressing her lips to her bare knees as she begins to tremble. He turns his head in the direction of the sound—it appears to be coming from underneath them from the inside of the house. It's easy for him to make out the heavy and stumbling footfalls of an adult male Spock deduces to be in his late forties and, judging by the staggering trajectory of his steps, he is heavily intoxicated.

_CRASH._

"…little bitch. I'll sell that piece of junk car, you just wait. Daddy's not here to stop me now is? Sell it, make a nice penny. Hm? What do you say Jimbo? How much do you think I can get for a legend's pretty little corvette?"

_CRASH._

"Is he a relative?" Spock asks quietly.

Jim nods against her knees silently.

"You have no other relative that would be willing to take you in?"

Jim shakes her head.

_CRASH._

The sky begins to darken and clouds that were not there before appear in an ominous overcast of lightening and echoing thunder. Spock knows that its Jim's emotions that are affecting the environment of her memory. Though he wishes he could, he knows it will be of no use if he tries to remind or persuade her of who she truly is. The human brain is both complex and resolute in nature. This memory has already occurred, so therefore it is set in stone in Jim's mind. There will be nothing Spock can do besides ride it out with Jim, and offer his presence as support.

The one thing he cannot allow is for Jim to give up as a means of escape from the labyrinth that is her mind. If she forfeits—she will surely slip away and die. That cannot be an option.

Spock turns to Jim, and says, "You must remember that you are strong, James. You can always endure."

Jim stares at him with unseeing blue eyes. The storm overhead settles but does not completely lift.

_THUMPTHUMP**CRASH**_

"Got a good little deal for it, did I mention? Got a guy who's coming in the morning, Jimmy. Gonna come and get it. Maybe I oughta buy you a nice little doll? Give you a percentage of what I get. Was your dad's car after all, you should get something shouldn't ya, Jimmy?"

_THUMPCRASH**CRASH**_

"He's in my room now," Jim says faintly, almost drowsy with her sadness. "Uncle Frank likes to do that. Trash it." She rubs her lips against her knobby knees as she goes on to say, "Took me a while to learn. But it's fine. I never keep anything important in my room anymore—not in this house."

_CRASH. THUMP. THUMP._

"Fucking bitch—little daddy's whore. I'll fucking find you."

_THUMPTHUMP**CRASH**_

Spock watches as Jim's eyes lower, and as the sky clears, her outline fades away until she becomes no more than shadow, and then, nothing at all.

The space is empty where she sat, and Spock knows that he will have to find her again.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: <strong>_Mkay—so you should know that I estimate like another chapter or two left. You all might want to prepare yourselves—there are some major dark themes headed your way as we travel along with Spock to relive Jim's dark past. Tell me what you think if you want. I welcome feedback. Sorry if this chapter was sucky or if the situation with Mitchell was anti-climatic. I wasn't sure how to tackle it, but I did my best_


	13. Chapter 14

**Chapter 4**

Spock withdraws from Jim's mind carefully in order to process the events that had occurred while he was joined in meld with her. It is to his astonishment that he finds both guilt and discontent swimming loops through his ribcage, where he keeps most of his emotions in order to bring them under proper submission. His guilt is for the preconceived notions he once held about Captain Kirk. There was a time when he believed that she has always led an easy and cheerful life, untroubled by responsibility and common worry. And he was also sure that as a consequence, she was quite used to getting her way. He now recognizes that what he mistook for spoiled behavior is actually stubborn determination.

With this considered, Spock finds Jim courage and tenacity admirable. Of all the scenarios that could form James Kirk, it is a virtuous thing that her character has remained in tact.

"Were you aware?" Spock asks, quickly after he contacts Doctor McCoy in regards to Jim's physical condition. There is mild improvement, but nothing of note, the Doctor explains. Wordlessly, Spock takes it as a positive sign. And before he can contain it, the question of Jim's past arises. "Did she ever make a remark or indication?" He notices the considerable pause the Doctor gives on his end of the communicator.

"_That's—Spock that's something that Jim's very sensitive about. I do know things. I'm her doctor. Kind of goes with the job but, she doesn't tell me everything—not for my lack of asking either. She's just very—" _Doctor McCoy pauses and Spock surmises that he is choosing his words quite carefully. "_She's very guarded._"

"Indeed," Spock concurs as he recalls the memory of her uncle. It is not hard to for him to fathom why Jim would be cautious in regards to such a matter.

"_Yeah well—I have to go. We've got a lot of injured personnel, some of them being my staff. I'll keep monitoring her and you just keep on doin' whatever it is that's helping her readings level out. McCoy out._"

The line dies.

Spock snaps his communicator shut and places it neatly on the other side of his PADD where Doctor McCoy has forwarded Jim's biofunction readings. He spends a brief moment studying them before he puts the PADD back in its space on the floor. He prepares himself by simple breathing exercises that his father has taught him. He finds a center for his emotions, and curls his fingers over the curve of his knees as his lids lower. He folds inwards toward the bond and trails the golden thread into Jim's mind once more.

Her mind welcomes him with the same kind of inviting coolness as before and when he opens his eyes, he is standing in a lowlight wide hallway with chessboard colored tiles, antique vases and statues line the wall along with nicely polished tables under oil paintings. A few paces down the hall is a fourteen-year-old Jim. She is on her knees, using both her hands to scrub the floors as she cries. She's wearing a long purple dress with puffed out ruffles at the shoulders and down her waist to her feet.

Jim pauses her scrubbing to press the back of her raw hands to her pinked wet cheeks. Her tears darken her eyelashes and her small shoulders shake with her sobs. She rips off the curly blonde wig from her head and throws it in Spock's direction with an angry shout before she lowers her head and sobs at the floor. All Spock can see now is the military-like buzz cut blonde hair, as well as the mark of '_G.K._' scarred into the side of her scalp just above her right ear. He is beginning to understand why she prefers not to let her hair down.

"Jim," Spock calls gently as he approaches her. He crouches down so they can be at eye level. "What is the matter?"

Jim sniffs as the ruffles on her shoulders shake with her hiccups. She lifts her head with some struggle, and looks up at him with those wide watery blue eyes in a way that never fails to twist his heart around like clockwork. "I wouldn't do it," she sniffles. "Pick a boy—I wouldn't do it. I couldn't. And he's angry. I—" She shakes her head as more tears stripe her cheek.

"To whom do you refer?" Spock questions with a concerned furrow of his brow.

"He—" Jim hiccups as her lips tremble. "He makes me choose them. I don't want to, but I'm so hungry. So hungry and that I just don't care anymore and—I choose them. The boys. He likes the—" She pauses to let out a wet cough. "He likes them young. So young. Baby faces almost." She sniffs and rubs the back of her hand against her wet cheeks. "He uses me to pick them. They—they like my face. I treat them nice, make them feel—safe. I promise them food. They're all so hungry so they don't even fuss. And then—then—oh God," she sobs presses her face into his knee. He stiffens slightly but does not push her away.

Spock can feel her warm tears sinking past the layer of his pants. Even his sensitive nose picks up the faint tinge of salt in the air. Her trembling frame churns something unpleasant in his gut, and he finds that he is at a loss of how to comfort her.

"He lets them eat—stuffs them like a pig," Jim continues with another wet cough. "Then he gives them some wine that makes them sleepy." She sobs some more and shakes her head.

"What happens when they sleep?" Spock asks carefully. There is a dawning sense of unease descending down his spine.

Jim's shoulders shake a little more before she lifts her head. She meets his gaze as her lips tighten in anger. "He takes them to bed—and he f-fucks them." Her bottom lip trembles and there is a wash of shame in her blue eyes. "Then he eats them. And I help him. I—" Her eyes are filled to the brim with tears.

"You were not given a choice," Spock says by way of comfort. "Your youth and physical limitations are being taken advantage of."

"No, no," Jim moans as she hides her mouth behind the back of her raw red hands. "I'm a monster just like him. A stupid obedient pet. All those boys—God, all those boys—and I did it. I helped—I—" She cut off by a tearful hiccup. "But I—I couldn't this time—the boy was only three and I couldn't—"

The sound of a door slamming open startles Jim and she quickly backs away from Spock. She looks at him with frightened eyes.

Heavy footsteps echo from the opposite end of the hall. Two men appear. One man is a forty-something, plump and balding man. He's wearing a turquoise colored suit with a matching tie. The other stands tall and is a rather gaunt looking man. He has toffee colored hair and the design of his mustache matches something one would find in old pirate lore. His posture is straight and dignified, while his expression remains somber. His brown eyes have a harsh glint in them, which make his rather hawkish shaped nose seem even more unfit for his face, and it casts an ominous expression that glooms something sinister.

"With all due respect, Governor Kodos," the man in the turquoise suit begins. "I do not understand why you are so lenient with the little cunt."

"Mind your words, Mr. Breaker," Governor Kodos murmurs as they come to a stop before Jim. He looks down at her as though she were some kind of prized animal. "You can forgive a young cunt anything. A young cunt doesn't have to have brains. They're better without brains. But an old cunt, even if she's brilliant, even if she's the most charming woman in the world, nothing makes any difference. A young cunt is an investment—an old cunt is a dead loss. All they can do for you is be the bitch that all your friends want. But that doesn't put meat on their arms or juice between their legs. She is paying for the sins of her mother Eve, as the bible recants. With the proper guidance and the right male authority—my little princess will grow into something beautiful."

Spock is very appalled by Kodos's philosophy regarding the female gender, as well as his behavior towards the youth as a whole.

"She is rather rebellious, sir," Mr. Breaker supplies unhelpfully. His lips curl in a rather mean sneer.

Jim glares at the two men with quiet defiance and anxious worry.

"This is also true," the Governor agrees. He eyes Jim with a reluctant sigh. "Three days in the pit might correct it."

"You can't do that!" Jim cries as she trips to her feet, stumbling over the many layers of ruffles on her dress. "I'll die!"

"No, I don't think so, Princess," the Governor corrects with an odd level of detachment in his voice. "I have adopted you—you are my child now. My daughter. I would not allow my little princess to suffer a fate."

"I'll fucking bake in the sun you idiot," Jim snarls and yelps in pain when Governor Kodos backhands her.

Spock winces at the resounding echo that rings through the hall with the inexcusable action. He clenches and unclenches his hand as he keeps his growing anger at bay. It is not enough that they cannot see him, but any interference on his part would be of little use—or so Spock must remind himself in efforts not to intrude. He would not see Jim harmed, especially a younger visage, but this is a memory, and it would be a gross violation if he attempted to alter it. There is also an unknown danger there—the repercussions of any alteration could be many in number. It is unsatisfying for Spock to remain a passive observer, and yet he chooses this route for Jim's mental wellbeing.

"Six days. Make sure she has enough water to survive them, but nothing more," the Governor decides. He gets down on a knee before Jim and eyes her tattered dress with a disapproving cluck of his tongue. He stands again and looks down at her. "You will learn not to deny me of my pleasures and appreciate the life I afford you to have. I enjoy this little game, and it is all the sweeter with you. But do no push me, Princess."

Jim glares at him as she cradles her quickly bruising cheek. She flinches when he brushes past her and walks away, disappearing into a room.

Mr. Breaker is grinning, quite pleased with himself. "Oh don't look so shocked, Precious. The Governor isn't one to be crossed," he says listlessly and makes a gesture for her to follow him. "I'll enjoy this punishment of yours. I believe you will too." He digs his communicator from his pocket and flips it open. "Breaker to Striker. Tell Einhardt to bring the Dune Buggy around. Oh, and we'll need a ladder. The Governor's little princess is going into the pit tonight."

"_On it, sir._"

The environment shifts, and before Spock is able to make sense of it, he finds himself in an open dirt field during the late night hour. When he looks down, he notices that he standing along the edge of the mouth of a pit. It's rather deep and the bottom of it is masked in the shadows of the night. Even the starry sky offers no light.

Spock crouches down as he peers into the pit and searches the unseeing dark. "Jim," he calls lightly.

There is no response.

"Jim," Spock attempts once more.

"_Yeah,_" she croaks with a dry voice. "_I'm here._"

"Are you hurt?"

"_No._" She sounds drowsy. "_Just thirsty._"

"How many days have you been here?"

"_Counted eight so far—Governor Dick decided I could stay longer I guess,_" she rasps. "_Or maybe he's done with me. I wouldn't mind dying_."

"Do no say that," Spock chastises mildly. "You are of more significance than you comprehend."

"_Is that why the boys from the camp always come around and tease me and piss on my fucking head!_" she snaps, and it is followed by a dry cough. Then, a sniff. The walls of the pit begin to echo with her quiet sobs. "_Spock,_" she whimpers. "_I'm scared. Tell me—tell me how I can be brave. I want to give up so bad_."

"Jim, you must not," Spock replies quickly. "You must not give up. You are important. You are strong, and you have immeasurable courage."

"_No I'm not!_" she yells.

"I must insist that—"

Jim interjects with a low snarl and says, _"Please, just stop lying."_

"Vulcans do not lie," Spock corrects calmly. "And I certainly would not waste such an effort on a truth I have witnessed countless times in you. You are important."

The sky rumbles and a bank of grey clouds begin to formulate overhead.

"_Stop saying that! I'm nothing! I'm worthless!_"

"You are not," Spock insists.

"_How do you know?_" she demands as thunder shakes the ground and rain begins to pour. Spock knows that if this is a true memory of Tarsus IV, then the rain is an impossibility, and it must be Jim manipulating the weather. "_You can't know. You can't,_" she mutters.

"Of this, I am sure," Spock maintains. "You have remarkable courage, rarely found in the many. And your bravado, although highly illogical at times, is inspiring."

Jim says nothing.

"One day you will make a fine captain, and it will be an honor to be your First Officer," Spock continues.

Jim sniffs, and is clearly biting back soft sobs. "_Spock—_" she says, voice trembling. "_I'm so scared. I don't—I don't want to be here anymore. How—how do you do it? I know Vulcans can control their emotions. How do you do it?_"

Spock can feel the echoes of an ache twisting inside his heart again like clockwork. His hands begin to shake and he clenches them against the feeling. He would like nothing more than to be able to withdraw Jim from the pit. He swallows dryly instead. "I do not know," he says honestly, a tremor worming its way around his usually monotone voice. "Right now, I am failing."

Jim sniffs. She clears her throat and says, _"Everyday I've been here, I've been praying. I don't believe in much, but I believe in Death. I beg him not to come for me. Not yet. I just want to get out of here, and I swear when I do, I'll do everything right. I'll make up for it all, even if it means giving up my life. That's a bargain isn't it?"_

"I believe the term, you will find, is '_martyr_'," Spock states dryly.

"_Shut up_," Jim weakly replies, but gives a feeble laugh.

Spock feels the sound spread loop warm ribbons of satisfaction through his chest.

"_You know, if it means anything," _Jim says after another hiccup. "_I think you'd make a great First Officer. But I don't think they'd let me hire my imaginary friend, let alone me for all I've done_."

"Jim, I am real."

"_No_," Jim sighs. "_No you're not. You're the only good thing that follows me. Like a—but you're not real. I wish you were. I'd keep you forever_."

Spock is unavoidably flustered, and glad that the darkness shrouds his shameful response.

Jim goes quiet. He feels her presence slip away.

When he allows himself to follow, he appears in a chaotic bedroom lit by the late evening sun. A sixteen-year-old Jim is standing in front of a full length mirror, wearing a flowing strapless wedding gown, complete with a long veil fixed to the crown of her pinned-up curls. Jim is running her hands down her waistline when she spots him in the mirror and smiles.

"How do I look?" she asks, then straightens her posture and the line of her shoulders as she eagerly awaits his response.

Spock opens his mouth, but no sound comes forth. He is floored.

Jim laughs and hides her blushing face behind one hand. "Oh my God, your face—" Her words get cut off by another long laugh until her bare elegant shoulders are shaking with it. "Wow. I am just—flattered, Spock." She calms down with a sigh as she drops her hand. She turns her gaze back to her reflection as she turns to and fro. "I was really nervous about how I'd look, but then you came and made that adorable face, and now I'm sure." She bites her bottom lip but her smile is too wide and proud.

Spock clasps his hands at the small of his back and wills away the green that tinges the tips of his pointed ears.

"Today is going to be so beautiful. The sun is shining, and the birds are chirping. I almost feel like dancing—but I don't do that," Jim says chattily as she uncaps the top from a tube of lipstick and carefully colors her lips with a dark red. She smacks twice, clips the cap back on before nodding twice in satisfaction. "Well, I think I have everything covered."

Spock takes a moment to study her bare feet before he lifts his gaze to hers. She's facing his direction now. "You are getting married," he states evenly.

Jim stares at him until her brow furrows with a snort. "Uh—_no_," she says as though it should be obvious. "It's Halloween and every year at the bar I work at, we throw a little get-together. My boss always want me in '_uniform'_." She walks to the side of her bed and grabs a cheetah scarf and a square bottle of perfume. "Last year I was a Power Ranger—red, if you must know, always my favorite—and this year I'm going as blushing bride-to-be." She walks towards him with a grin and loops the cheetah scarf around his neck. "I should get a helluva amount of tips tonight. Might even be able to buy out that last piece of motor for the bike I've been working on." She takes a moment to spritz her wrists and the sides of her neck with perfume.

"You work at a bar?" Spock questions with a small amount of curiosity as the smell of orange citrus invades his senses. It is familiar to him—he recognizes it as Jim's preferred choice of perfume. The scent fits her well, but it has a tendency of leaving behind small threads of aroma in any manner of room she occupies. Through this, he can often surmise when Jim has been in a certain area, even after she has vacated it. "You are underage," he goes on to say. "Earth's legal drinking age is twenty-one."

"I know right? Insane," Jim agrees cheerfully as she stumbles around her messy room in an attempt to tidy it. Clothes are strewn to and fro across the floor and her bed and her furniture. "The guy that owns the place, Greg Demoysus—I call him Mr. Demo—he looks out for me, you know? I saw he needed help about a month after my fifteenth birthday, and I decide to give it a shot cause I've always looked older than my age. I mean why not take advantage of that right?" She dips down and scoops a handful of bras from the floor before she shoves them in the dresser by her bathroom door. "He'd protested at first, of course he would, I mean, I'm underage—" She shrugs and opens her closet door so she can shove some more clothes inside.

Spock lifts an eyebrow at her cleaning methods. He tenses when he notices the sky beginning to grey over. Spock has accounted that as a warning sign Jim's memory will take an uncomfortable turn.

"But then I batted my eyes and twirled the end of my ponytail and made him laugh," Jim goes on to says, mimicking the actions she speaks of. "He laughed and couldn't deny I was good. And if a pretty little thing could keep the customers coming back every night, he might just take the risk. All I had to do was lie about my age and never do anything more than a little heavy flirting with the customers. Simple."

"Jim," Spock says and studies her room quickly. "Do you live alone?"

"Well no. It's like a border house. I stay with a few others. Two guys and a girl. They're all cool. Um, they're med students passing the time around here just to get their basic requirement courses out of the way before they go to serious school," Jim explains and she shrugs briefly. "But they're not here right now. They left about a week ago—on some kind of tantric hike through the sunken crevices on Blue Horizon that's supposed to lead to the Da Vinci Falls—or so Marshall and Abby and Cameron says but who knows? I would've gone if I didn't have work but you know, that's just how—"

_CRASH._

Jim frowns and looks toward her doorway. "Or at least I thought I was alone," she murmurs as her frown deepens into something thoughtful. "They're not supposed to be back for another two weeks." She walks over and grasps onto the frame of the doorway as she leans out to peer down the hall. "Hey! That better not be a robber! I'm serious! I'll kick your ass!" she shouts.

Spock steps toward Jim's window and peers out. He notices there is a large silver truck parked unnecessarily on the front lawn of the house. At the heavy sound of footfalls, and the uneven tempo, Spock estimates that the intruder is male and inebriated. He flicks his dark gaze to Jim just in time to watch as she stumbles back as a young brunet male falls to his hands and knees in the doorway, splashing the clear liquid of the bottle in his left hand.

"Johnny, what the fuck!" Jim exclaims as she looks at the hem of her dress, which is now soaked with alcohol. "Great. Just fucking great. Get up."

"I needed to see you, Jim," Johnny slurs as he works his way onto his feet, leaning against the door for support. "I miss you. You're all I can think about."

"That's grossly needy," Jim says with a put upon sigh. "Look, you're not thinking straight. So why don't you just leave before you embarrass yourself."

"I'm think—" Johnny gets cut off by a hiccup. "I'm thinkin' fine, girl. Now I wanna talk to you but you just wont let me. I don't mean to corner you and—"

"Oh my God, Johnny! You smell like the inside of fifty bars. And I'm pretty sure this is breaking and entering. So I'm going to give you one last chance to go and sleep it off. Let's just forget that this even happened," Jim reasons.

Johnny shakes his head stubbornly as he blinks and scrunches his mouth. He leans into Jim's space as she winces and bats her hand in front of her nose. "I want you back. We were each other's first and—"

"That's exactly it, Jonathan. We had sex once just to lose our virginity and that was it. It was never a thing before it and it was never a thing after it. What part of that do you not understand?" Jim huffs impatiently.

Johnny stares at her for a long while and blinks tiredly. His bottom lip trembles and he lowers his head with a sad shake.

"That's alright, son," a new voice says, stepping out from the shadows of the hall and from behind Johnny. A man with hard lines of age in his face, a muscular build and short military cut grey hair claps a rough and calloused hand on Johnny's shoulder, causing him to jump slightly. "You tried to talk the bitch down, and clearly she's not hearing you right."

"I hear him just fine, thanks." Jim watches them both carefully as she backs away. "Both of you need to leave," she says lowly.

"Now where are my manners? My name is Howard. I'm Johnny's father. You must be Jimmy." Howard smiles with white teeth in an eerie motion that almost echoes a shark. "Girl you sure got my boy tied up in knots over you. He fucks you once and you're all he can moan about. Now don't get me wrong," he says as he holds up a hand while tucking the other in the pocket of his pants. "You sure are pretty, and I'm sure you got some charm. I just feel that maybe my boy hasn't had enough of you to let you alone."

"I'll only say this once more," Jim says slowly with a warning tone. "Get out of my house."

"Or what?" Howard smiles sharply again. "Now don't be rude, girl. We just tryin' to talk to you. My boy's whimperin' like a little wet whore to get your attention, and that ain't workin' so here's what I think—we try it my way. Now how do you want it done, Jimmy?"

"Dad. Please—" Johnny starts.

"You shut your fucking mouth, boy. We tried it your way," Howard says calmly without ever lifting his gaze from Jim, who is inching towards her communicator. "Girl, I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Jim turns away and lunges for the device but Howard is already coming down on her. He grabs her by the arm and hurls her across the room into her dresser where she goes crashing into the wood. She grunts in pain and cups her hand over her side as she attempts to slide away. Blood is pooling out the side of her mouth and she coughs.

"You're fucking crazy," Jim rasps and struggles valiantly when Howard grabs her by the hair. She yells in protest, kicking out her feet and scratching his arm.

Howard winces but he doesn't make a sound, nor does stop dragging Jim to the bathroom. "Get in here!" he yells once they disappear from sight.

Johnny hesitates but he quickly follows them in the bathroom and slams the door shut.

Before Spock is able to take a step in that direction, the door goes flying off the hinges and Johnny along with it. There is a second cry of anguish and Howard comes stumbling out, yanking a butter knife from his abdomen.

Jim appears a second later with a bruised jawline, a threatening grin and an automatic handgun aimed at their direction. Her dress is torn around her knees and there are hand-shaped bloodstains in certain areas.

"You crazy bitch!" Howard groans, trying to catch all the blood pooling out from his gut.

Jim laughs unbelievingly and says, "You and your fuckwad son were about to rape me like a pig and do God knows what else, and _I'm _the crazy one? Yeah, sure."

Johnny groans and rolls to his feet, crying out in pain as his dislocated shoulder collides with Jim's nightstand. There is blood pouring from his nostrils, and his nose is noticeably crooked.

"Listen, I just cut a path open in your cecum, which is about two degrees off from your appendix. Be happy that's where I stabbed you," Jim states with mock sweetness. "And Johnny-Boy, your lucky all I did was give you a broken nose and a dislocated shoulder."

Howard and Johnny stare at her with wide eyes.

"I know what you're thinking. I do," Jim says. "You're thinking, holy shit, not only is she fucking gorgeous, but she's also insanely smart. Yeah, well, maybe next time think about that when you try to bust in on some seemingly defenseless young lady. And if I hear any reports about you attacking some other poor girl, I will hunt you guys down, cut off your dicks and jam it down your redneck throats. We squared?"

Howard and Johnny quickly shake their heads with an affirmative as they wheeze in pain.

"Well," Jim sighs and lowers her gun. "I think I'm going to go easy on you this time, and not press charges. But I might change my mind if you're not gone in the next two minutes."

Howard and Johnny stumble out the door and out of sight without having to be asked twice.

Jim scoffs, shakes her head and mutters, "Bitches."

Spock finds both of his eyebrows rising, but he is only alarmed by how he is not even slightly shocked by her behavior.

Jim looks over at him and snorts. "I had to learn about self-defense the hard way," she admits and pulls the trigger of the gun until bubbles come out. "You have to be smart and two steps ahead. That's what my old kickboxing coach used to say. He was a sweet old guy. Deadly—but sweet." She sighs and takes off her tattered veil. "Looks like I'm not going in to work tonight."

"Are you confronted often?" Spock asks as he draws closer to her.

"Now and again, some asshole likes to see if he can try it," Jim says with a shrug. "A woman is like a tea bag—you can't tell how strong she is until you put her in hot water. Do you want know the truth?"

Spock inclines his head as she leans tiredly against her disheveled dresser.

"I came back to Earth a little after I turned fourteen and I was terrified of everything because of where I'd been and what I'd been through. Tarsus left some pretty deep scars." Jim tosses the fake gun into a lopsided drawer and cups her hands over her shoulders. "I mean I had a fear so thick that it kept me up late at night, just so wide-eyed, shaken and sick with it." She takes a moment to shrug. "Finally I couldn't take it anymore. So I went to this rec center on the coast of town and met an ex-boxing coach. He was pretty well known back in his day, and he's helped over a dozen girls earn their fair share of heavyweight belts. So I thought, if I could just get him to teach me how to take control of who does what to me, I wouldn't be so scared anymore. And it took some convincing on my part because I hadn't had prior training, and Marty only works with girls who have been in the biz for a good while. But I was persistent. So persistent that I finally wore him down and he began training me in the art of kickboxing and self-defense. I wasn't planning on finding myself in a place where I'd have to actually use it. I just wanted it for me. It wasn't until about a year ago that I started to get _that kind _of attention. But by then I was already knee deep in experience.

"One night I'm walking home, right? It's night and I'm alone and I'm walking along this long stretch of road, just trying to get home. I'm newly fifteen, I just got a job, moved out of my stupid Uncle's place—things are going good. So I'm walking along and this vintage Chevy impala pulls up, practically sardine packed full of drunk college boys looking for something young and pretty to fuck. And who should they see but me wandering around all by myself?" Jim shakes her head with a wry grin and pulls her blue-eyed gaze down. "One guy gets out, another guy follows—then next thing I know is they're all trying to ease me back into the depths of this cornfield to our left, you know, away from view and everything. And me, I'm just politely asking them to leave me alone even though I know what they're trying to do. But things get physical, and I'm not even scared. For once in my life, at that moment, I feel ready and calm. And it wasn't easy, but I manage to get the drop on all of them, even though three of them had a pocketknife. But I was the one who was able to walk away with no more than a bruise on my cheek and a couple of shallow cuts here and there. And I tell Marty what happens the next day, and at the end of it all, I tell him that he needs to teach me everything he knows, because I sure as hell have never been included in the percentage of women who are sexually assaulted in their lifetime and I sure as hell never will be, and I'm going to do everything I can to try and teach whatever I know to girls just like me. I've had a rough life, I know, but I've been lucky with some things, and never having been sexually violated is one of them and its always going to stay that way for me and whoever else I can help."

"You have a desire to become a defense instructor?" Spock questions.

"I don't know about that. I mean—I've been thinking about saving up money, you know. Like, just enough to move out of state and go somewhere where I can open up my own bar," Jim admits. "I don't like to think too far ahead. Who knows where I'll be right?" She chuckles ironically. "I used to want to sail the stars when I was little. Be either a captain or a pirate. I don't think Starfleet would let someone like me command their ships. Pirating sounds more fun actually."

"Jim, it would be unwise to engage in such an illegal occupation," Spock warns gently. "And you will make a fine captain."

Jim stares at him for a long while. "Why are you here?"

"So that you will not feel alone," Spock states. "You are not alone."

"That's funny coming from you," Jim says with a bitter laugh. "You're not real. God, am I so alone that I had to make you up just to fill in the gaps? How pathetic is that?"

"I am not a figment of your imagination."

"Are somebody to me? Why can't I remember you? I mean I can remember you but I can't at the same time."

"I am unsure."

Jim stares at him as her mouth flattens into an unhappy line. "I don't know where I am. Or what's happening to me," she says quietly. "I keep having these moments over and over again. Like—time travel or something." She pushes away from her dresser and walks around him to the windows. "This isn't normal. I don't understand what's going on, but this isn't normal. This is sixth time I've done this act. I mean—there are certain, like, times I can avoid but there are a lot I cant. And I have to say, I don't think I can keep bouncing back and forth like this. I already lived it once. I'm not trying to do all this over again. Spock, you say your real but I need you to tell me the truth." She turns and meets his eyes. "Am I dead? Is this—purgatory or something?"

"You are not dead," Spock replies evenly. "You are in a state of catalepsy."

"Coma," Jim supplies with a shattered expression. "That's just a pretty way of saying I'm fucking brain dead. So I am practically dead."

"Jim—"

"Don't," Jim warns. "Don't say anything. You've said enough. I—" She pauses and presses a hand to her throat. She takes a moment to breathe as the glass of the windowpanes shake with her distress. "Can I be saved? Can you pull me out of this?"

Spock says nothing. He is mildly unsure.

Jim can read it in his face and a few tears fall as she lowers her gaze. "I can't do this," she whispers weakly.

"You must not—"

"I can't keep going like this," Jim interjects with a headshake. "I mean you've seen how horrible my life is. You think I want to keep going through that over and over and over and fucking over again?"

"No, I do not," Spock says. "I do not believe—that all of what you have experienced has been a terrible destitution."

"Sometimes the bad outweighs good," Jim says with a careless shrug as she raises her eyes to meet his. "I don't even know if I can find something good in here," she admits pointing to her own temple.

"You must try."

"Yeah, easy for you to say, all you have to do is stand there and enjoy the ride," Jim retorts bitterly, crossing her arms.

"Do my not mistake my lack of involvement as nonexistent empathy," Spock warns, a quiet tremor in his voice that he cannot hide. He has been trying valiantly to keep a grip on his emotions concerning the situation. Allowing them to take over would cause him to be of little use to Jim. He must remain steady when she cannot.

Jim looks at him with surprise and mild guilt. She bites the corner her bottom lip, then says, "I'm sorry. I—that wasn't fair for me to say."

Spock shifts his gaze away.

"I'll—I'll try what you suggested. I'll find a good memory," Jim says placatingly. "I might miss the mark though. Fair warning."

"It is no matter," Spock replies as he flicks his dark gaze back to her. "I will remain with you until you are able."

Jim slowly grins sadly under the darkening bruise along her jawline. Without warning, she fades away and disappears completely.

Spock closes his eyes and prepares himself to follow. When he opens them again, he's standing in the living room facing an inebriated Frank. He is passed out across the couch, no shirt on and a pair of cargo shorts with no shoes, spooning a dark bottle that Spock recognizes as one of Earth's more popular alcoholic beverages. The light filtering through the open windows allows Spock to perceive that it is the early morning. A soft hum bypasses Franks arduous snoring and Spock flicks his dark gaze to the hallway leading to the kitchen. He follows the sound and spots a two-year-old Jim in a lime colored highchair. Her corn yellow hair is in curls curving around her plump pink cheeks and her small hands are fisted around markers. She's drawing.

Spock stands in the doorway of the kitchen, unsure of what to do. He clasps his hands behind him and silently observes Jim at work. She has marker stains smudging her small chin, her white pajama gown, as well as her bare arms. She hums again, thoughtfully, and switches markers as her thin eyebrows furrows in concentration. She never looks at him, not even once, but Spock finds the silence peaceful. He takes the time to observe the kitchen.

It is wide, poorly tiled and furnished. The refrigerator is silver and stands tall between the groove of the wall and the sink. The handles, as well as the surface, have all manner of scratches across it, as though it had been intentionally clawed and scuffed. The floor has the same scuffmarks, as well as the chipped wood of the cabinets. The sink is filled with dishes and cups and empty alcohol bottles. There are takeout boxes littering the counters along with empty milk containers and more glass bottles. The ceiling fan that rests over Jim is squeaking noisily as it spins, offering no relief to the hot room. It does not bother Spock, he is used to the heat, even greater so, but it makes Jim's curls stick to her damp forehead. Occasionally she will also rub her wet forehead against the inside of her forearm. It does not seem to bother her otherwise. She continues to hum and swing her small legs as her bare feet swing towards the floor. When she finishes, she lifts her wide blue eyes and looks directly at him. She sticks her tongue out before she giggles, and Spock finds that his lips twitch in response.

"Hm," she grunts and offers the picture.

Spock steps into the kitchen fully and carefully retrieves the sketch from her. Upon first glance, he guesses that the portrait is of him. In the picture he is standing at attention and his expression is somber, but his eyes are drawn gentle. The tips of his ears stick out with pointed tops and his eyebrows are drawn thick and black akin to his hair. He looks down at Jim and notices that she is watching him very carefully, gauging his reaction.

"Thank you," Spock says with a slight nod.

Jim smiles wide and virtually toothless. She points at the picture in his hand and says, "Spock." Then she points to him, and softly adds, "Friend."

Spock feels his lips part, and a reply is stalled by the heaviness of his tongue. It seems that no matter the age, Jim still has the innate ability to keep him at a loss for words.

Jim just beams at him as she pats her pink cheeks. She lets out a satisfied hum before she goes back to drawing.

Spock continues to stand there, wordless and attempts to process the situation the best way he can. Something he is unable to identify goes soft inside of him and leaves him feeling inexplicably mild.

Frank stumbles into the kitchen, breaking the moment with his grunting and staggering. He manages to find his way to an automated coffeemaker and attempts to make a cup.

Jim perks up, and she doesn't smile, but she seems interested in the commotion that her uncle is making. When she notices the coffee he's pouring into a dingy porcelain mug she begins to bounce and exclaims, "Cocoa!"

Frank doesn't pay her any attention as he squirts cream into his cup.

"Cocoa!" Jim exclaims and makes grabbing gestures with her small fists.

The windows begin to shake and the sky turns grey. This worries Spock immensely. "Jim," he starts, calculating a way to placate her so as to prevent her from drawing any attention from her uncle that could turn into anything negative.

Jim ignores him and stubbornly persists, slamming her chubby fists into the surface of her highchair table. "Cocoa!" she begins to chant. "Cocoa, cocoa, cocoa!"

"Shut your fucking mouth," Frank growls into his steaming mug as he winces, pressing a sweaty palm to his forehead. He turns away and opens the refrigerator. He thrusts a free hand in and pulls out bowl of egg salad. He pulls back the sheet of plastic wrap and takes a sniff before he shrugs. He yanks open a drawer and grabs a plastic spoon before he drops the container in front of Jim. "There. Bon appetit."

Jim makes an unhappy face. "Cocoa," she insists.

"There ain't do damn cocoa, now eat your fucking breakfast!" Frank snaps back.

"Cocoa."

"I swear to the fucking sun, Jimmy—"

"Cocoa."

"—if you don't eat what I give you—"

"Cocoa."

"Stop fucking saying that!" Frank shouts and throws down his porcelain mug with a loud crash.

Jim looks down and studies the floor with an upset frown. She pulls her gaze up and looks her uncle right in the eye and says, "_Cocoa._"

Frank glares.

Jim picks up the bowl of egg salad.

Spock immediately identifies what she means to do. He has seen that glimmer of mischievousness in her blue eyes before. "Jim, it would not be wise to—"

It's too late. Jim hurls the entire bowl at her uncle with impeccable aim. It collides into Frank's cheek and he sinks to the floor with a pained cry.

"Fucking—shit—" Frank mutters as he presses his forehead into the tiles and cupped his bloody cheek, which also laced with stripes of egg salad, as is the better part of him.

"Cocoa."

Frank slams his fist into the floor and breathes heavily. He pulls himself upright after a while and rolls his shoulders as he lets out another sigh. He stumbles to his feet and grabs a pot from a cabinet overhead. He turns on the faucet as the glass from the windowpane shakes even more. When the pot is full he sets it on the stove and it lights with three clicks. He sets the pot over the flame and disappears from sight.

The greying sky outside is suddenly overcome by storm clouds, and it makes the hair on the back of Spock's neck stand on end. He turns to Jim, who is tossing markers into the mess on the floor, and says, "Jim."

Jim looks at him with those wide blue eyes.

Spock opens his mouth, but there are no words that come to mind. He is struggling to understand the rising anxiety that grows within him on Jim's behalf.

Jim cocks her head as her eyebrows furrow thoughtfully.

Frank returns with a dark blue funnel. He sets it face down on the table, and with his hands free, he pulls Jim free of her highchair to sit her on the edge of the rounded kitchen table. He whistles pleasantly as he uncaps a silver top from a short whiskey bottle. He downs a few swigs before he turns off the stove—the water in the pot is beyond boiling and a cloud of steam is rising from its shallow depths.

Spock clenches and unclenches his hands at his sides.

Frank turns back to Jim with a mean smile and grabs the funnel while pushing Jim on her back. "Open up, Jimmy. You want your cocoa don't you?"

Jim looks up at him with an eager nod.

"Well. You gotta hold this," Frank says and hands her the funnel. "It's like a straw, you see. This'll help the cocoa go down real easy."

"Jim, you must not," Spock quietly warns, clenching and unclenching his hands again. His shoulders begin to quake.

Jim glances at him but she opens her mouth anyway and lets her uncle insert the small end of the funnel into her tiny mouth. She holds the mouth of the funnel upright as she swings her dangling legs jovially.

The sight sends an echo of an ache through Spock's heart and he swallows dryly.

Jim hums pleasantly as she waits.

Frank downs the rest of his bottle before he tosses it into the sink. His sweaty hands wrap around the pot of boiling water and he lifts it with precision. He makes his way over to Jim, one step at a time, shortening the distance between. "Alright, Jimbo—I got your cocoa right fucking here."

Spock is appalled, and a shock of anger starts from his feet and builds its way up inside of him until he is filled to the rim with it. He steps forward and has every intention of knocking the pot from Frank's grasp—but his hand just fazes through. Because of this, he is forced to realize once more that he can do nothing. This is a memory—it is set in stone, and nothing Spock attempts to do will alter it in a sufficiently healthy way.

Frank tilts the pot and the boiling water cascades in a swirl into the mouth of the funnel.

Jim jerks with a shocked cry and sputters as the hot water tips the funnel over and leaves her face fully exposed to the stream. She screams in pain and kicks her legs out in a desperate attempt to roll away. She falls off the table and lands on the floor with a hard wet thud and a gasping cry.

"Bitch," Frank mutters and drops the pot on her. "You won't fucking ask for cocoa no more, now will you?"

Jim curls into herself as her body jerks with her pained cries. She coughs hard and cries in hiccupping sobs. Her skin is blistering over and turns a shade of distracting red.

The atmosphere shifts until everything fades away, and when things steady, Spock finds himself in a hospital room.

Jim is lying on the biobed, face, arms and upper body wrapped in gauze. Her back is to the door where Frank and a female doctor are conversing.

"She should be fine, now. We gave her some painkillers. She is quite the strong little thing. Most children would have died from the shock of it all," the woman says. "It's a good thing you brought her in when you did. She'll be able to avoid scarring. Though, there will be some emotional trauma."

"I just feel so bad," Frank lies as he hangs his head in mock shame. "I went to the bathroom, only for a second and I hear a thump and a scream. Next thing I know, she's on the ground, soaking wet and red. She must've climbed out of her highchair and made a grab for the pot. I was trying to make her some oatmeal—you know, it's her favorite."

The woman smiles fondly. "You know, these things happen unfortunately. Don't blame yourself. You'll just have to childproof the house a lot better."

"Certainly," Frank agrees easily. He places a hand on her elbow, guiding her out of the room as he asks, "Listen—what time does your shift end? I'd like to buy you a drink."

Spock is left in silence with Jim. There is nothing but the hums and whirrs of her biofunction monitor screen hanging on the wall at the head of her biobed. There is an empty chair beside a bare nightstand.

Spock sits there.

Half of Jim's face is wrapped in gauze and her swollen red mouth is stuffed with cotton balls. She lies on her side with her small arms crossed over her chest. One drowsy blue eye peeks out from her wrapping, and it's pinned on the corner of the nightstand.

When Spock glances over, there is a book there that was not before.

_Through the Looking-Glass by Lewis Carroll_

Spock bring his dark gaze back to Jim, and notices she is looking at him this time. Her wide blue eye is slightly red and her blonde lashes are damp with the moisture from her tears. She is giving him a pleading look that surpasses all of Spock's defenses.

"You wish for me to read to you," Spock surmises quietly.

Jim doesn't make a sound, apart from a small sniff. She blinks her eye at him once and continues to level him with that drowsy stare.

"Very well," Spock states with a dry swallow. He grabs the book and opens it to the first page. He begins to read. "_One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to do with it—it was the black kitten's fault entirely…_"

Jim keeps a watery blue eye on him the whole time. She doesn't make a sound, she rarely blinks—she keeps that eye on him. Once or twice the edges of her mouth twitch in attempt of smiling during certain scenes in the book.

Spock mentally makes a count and mark of these attempted smiles, labeling the moments he reads as Jim's favorite passages of the book.

_"Ever drifting down the stream. Lingering in the golden gleam—"_ Spock reads, coming to the end of the book. _"Life, what is it but a dream?"_ He closes the book and looks at Jim.

Jim is looking back him. "Thank you," she rasps. Her voice is tiny and full of sadness that speaks volumes to her true age that her physical body does not show. "Thank you," she rasps again.

Spock inclines his head, and tries to keep himself steady. He watches as she fades away, and clenches his hands in an attempt to restrain himself from stalling her departure. It takes only a matter of seconds before her presence is gone, the feel of it lifts a weight from the room and leaves it cold and grey. Everything seems to freeze in her absence.

When he follows through and finds himself at the mouth of a wide barn filled with rows of horses, watching a smiling Jim push a scowling Doctor McCoy. She's wearing cutoff shorts, a red plaid shirt that's too big to be her own, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and hiking boots. Her hair is strung up into a messy bun that rests on the crown of her head. Doctor McCoy is outfitted in dark jeans, a tank top, and matching hiking boots.

"I still can't believe you never told me you have a horse. You just don't know how offended I am, Bones," Jim exclaims as she pushes at his shoulder again.

"For the last time, Kid—it's not something I just go around springin' on folks," Doctor McCoy retorts with unconcealed exasperation. "And you never asked."

"Oh wow, don't even pull the whole you never knew because you never asked bullshit," Jim huffs with a brief laugh. "But anyway, we're wasting daylight. Go get your pony and let's go for a walk." She turns and heads toward Spock with a grin.

"He's not a goddamn pony!"

Jim rolls her eyes and nods at Spock to follow her as she passes him by. "This is a good memory," she says as they walk pasts rows and rows of apple trees. "I think this is right before we boarded the Enterprise." She presses the tips of her fingers to her mouth as she looks around. "Bones refused to let me alone and practically dragged me by my hair."

"The Doctor would never use physical force," Spock states plainly. "Despite his grim disposition, his initial mannerisms concerning you are carefully mild."

"Yeah," Jim agrees simply as she sticks her hands in her back pockets. "Underneath that scowl is a real big softie. He hates it when I say it, but it's the total truth. And I think the funniest thing I've found while I was here is that his entire family knows it too. He can't be all glares and scowls with them, because like me, they can see right through it. I did the first moment we met. I had a black eye at the time, but you should have seen the way he looked at me when he saw it. And it wasn't just pity either, nope—I hate that. I hate when people look at me that way." She turns slams her foot down against the trunk of a tree, holding out her hand as she does so and catches an apple. She turns back to him and offers it.

Spock quietly declines as he takes a moment to observe their surroundings.

"You know, you can relax. Nothing bad is going to happen in this one," Jim promises as she takes a considerate bite from her apple and hums with satisfaction. "God, these are like the best apples. Momma McCoy sure knows what she's doing."

"I knew I'd find you munchin' away at another apple," Doctor McCoy huffs as he gallops up to Jim on a large copper black horse. "You're as bad as Saturn."

"Whoa! There he is!" Jim exclaims excitedly, leaving Spock to fend for himself as she engages herself in this memory.

Spock does not mind—he is actually pleased to see Jim with joy in her expression. He watches quietly as she carefully approaches the horse, staying four paces out of reach.

"He is freakin' huge, Bones. What the hell are you feeding him?"

Doctor McCoy climbs down from the horse with a wry chuckle. "He's just a eater. It's in his nature. He's actually normal size, believe it or not."

"What's his breed?" Jim asks as she studies the horse with open fascination.

"Danish Warmblood. You can pet him, Kid. Saturn ain't gonna bite, he would've been done that by now. You got his approval if he ain't tryin' to run you off," Doctor McCoy explains with a grin.

Jim smiles and extends her right hand towards Saturn's snout. She laughs with delight as Saturn bobs his face into her hand in encouragement while stomping his front left hoof into the ground. He sniffs around her hand and huffs twice before he bobs quickly to snatch Jim's half-eaten apple from her hand. Jim's jaw falls open in amused surprise as Doctor McCoy laughs out loud.

"Forgot to warn you about that," Doctor McCoy says with a chuckle. "He loves apples as much as you do."

"Well thanks," Jim says with a sarcastic roll of her eyes. She turns her blue-eyed gaze back to Saturn. "That's not nice, Saturn. I don't appreciate being food-mugged by a horse."

Saturn huffs as he chews and stomps his front left hoof twice.

"How old is he?" she asks as she twirls her thin fingers through the thick bang of his man that falls between his large black eyes.

"I got him when I was fifteen, and he was just a tiny thing then. He'll be eleven next month. He's got a birthday comin' up," Doctor McCoy replies as he crosses his arms and watches Jim interact with his horse with a noticeable amount of fondness and something more.

Spock's brows furrow as he observes. He straightens out the line of his shoulders as he clasps his hands behind him.

"He's so handsome," Jim murmurs as she continues to stroke her hand down Saturn's long nose.

"Speakin' of birthdays," Doctor McCoy begins as he uncrosses his arms and begins a leisurely stroll to the east where nothing waits but more apple trees. Jim follows him and Saturn follows them without being told. Spock keeps a careful distance as he trails them. "You've got one comin' up if I'm not mistaken. Which I'm not. 15th of April, right? You'll be twenty."

"Uh—yeah," Jim says and shrugs. "Listen, Bones. About that—what do you say we just skip it this time around?" she suggests carefully as she laces her fingers together.

"What? We always do something for your birthday."

"Yeah, no, I know. It's just—can we pretend that I don't have one this year?" Jim shoves her hands in her back pockets.

"Jim, what's going on with you? Why do you suddenly want to skip the day that the universe was graced with your presence as if it's just another ordinary day?" Doctor McCoy questions with a concerned frown.

"I just—I want this year to be about the Enterprise, you know? I'm going to be so neck deep in just getting the groove of it all that I—I'm putting the ship first. Just this one time, and then no more," Jim promises with a grin. "Then you can wine and dine me for the rest of our years on my special day."

"I'll hold you to that, Jim, but I still don't like it," Doctor McCoy admits with a concentrated glare towards the fields of apple trees before them. "Kid, before we met, you never celebrated your birthday. And I always sorta told myself that I'd make sure things would be different."

"I know, Bones," Jim says softly as she stops and turns toward him. She rests her hands on his shoulders the moment he does the same. "Look, how about this—you're birthday is in August right? So how about we do a two for two? Not only do we celebrate yours but we celebrate mine too. Just us."

Doctor McCoy studies her face with a considerable pause before he sighs and looks to the side. "Fine," he grumbles. "And don't think I'll forget either!"

Jim laughs and throws her arms around his neck. "I wouldn't even _dream _of it, Bones."

Doctor McCoy mutters something before he looks at her and lifts his hand to brush away her blonde bangs.

Jim smiles and runs a hand through his hair as ribbons of comfortable silence loops between them.

Spock shifts slightly, feeling as though he is intruding on a private moment.

"Hey, Bones," Jim says with a quiet tremor in her voice. "How come we never tried? This—us."

Doctor McCoy swallows and backs away carefully. "Jim—don't."

"Why not?" Jim insists as she steps in closer to him. "You can't say you haven't thought about it."

"No I can't say I haven't, but—Jim, thinkin' about it is one thing. Doing something is completely different," Doctor McCoy retorts as he takes another step back.

"What is it then? Why? I just don't get why we couldn't try," Jim says angrily as she crosses her arms.

"You know why," Doctor McCoy mutters as he looks away.

"Do I? Because I'm a bit confused."

"You've got that whole bond thing with your pointy-eared commander." Bones turns away and watches his horse.

"And if I didn't?" Jim presses.

"But you do."

"Yeah, but what if I didn't?"

Doctor McCoy doesn't say anything for a long while. Then, he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a small black box. He turns it over in his hands three times before he faces her again and hands it to her.

Jim takes it and her eyes fill to the brim with disbelief and shock when she sees the generously sized ring waiting inside.

"If you didn't—I would've asked you to marry me, and I wouldn't have taken no for an answer," Doctor McCoy says and laughs shakily. "Fact of the matter is—that's just what I was going to do before this whole mess happened with Nero. I—we were gonna graduate this year, and the plan was to bring you here to meet my family. Then, if things went well, I would've taken you out here one night and drop to a knee in front of you." He pauses to swallow. "It was a crazy idea, but I just wanted—I just thought I might try."

"Oh my God," Jim whispers as she stares at the ring in amazement. "Oh my _God_, Bones."

"Yeah, I know," Doctor McCoy agrees with a gruff tone. "You and I, I think, could've been something. But that was before, and Jim, I'm all right with things stayin' how they are. I can—I can be your friend. Your best friend. But you can't tempt me with the idea that you want to make something work. I've had my heart broken a few times before, I'm not tryin' for another time."

Jim shakes her head as she stares at the ring with parted lips. "I can't believe that you went and picked out a ring and everything. I just—I feel so horrible. I mean—" She looks at him. "Are you crazy? I'm not—I'm not wife material."

"The hell you're not. I don't make it my business to just find some woman to settle down with," Doctor McCoy retorts. "You're _the _woman. And any man would be lucky."

"No they wouldn't," Jim denies as she snaps the small black box shut. "Think about it, Bones. A girl with a past like mine, someone with a terrible history and—and—emotional issues. Who would want that? Who wants to actually deal with someone as fucked up as me? If you knew—if you _really _knew about me, you would think _six times _about asking to marry me."

"You think that would matter to me? You think I care about what happened on Tarsus? I only care about what it did to you."

"Well it did a fucking lot, okay? And now I'm forever just—screwed."

"So you're saying you'd be perfectly happy in a completely carnal relationship with me as long as marriage was left out of the equation?"

"I don't do relationships!"

"So what the hell _were_ you suggestin' in the first place?"

"I don't know!" Jim shouts desperately. "Something like sex with just maybe a smidge of—of—monogamy."

"You really think I would've settled for somethin' like that?"

Jim stares at him silently before she lifts her eyes to the sky and patiently says, "You know it's complicated."

"No, it's not," Doctor McCoy says simply. "Because I'm stoppin' it right here and right now from gettin' anymore complicated than it's tryin' to be. And I'm gonna tell you that I love you and will love you no matter what. You know you can't run me off that easily, and I think you also know that one day you'll stop runnin' from yourself and settle down with the man that deserves you."

"Oh really? And just who might that be?" Jim snidely retorts as she looks at him and crosses her arms.

"I don't think it needs to be said," Doctor McCoy merely replies.

Jim glares at him, and shoves it into his chest the small back box shut. "Well it's a good thing you didn't ask me because I would've said no anyway."

"Yeah, sure," Doctor McCoy mutters with a wince as he accepts the ring back and puts it in his pocket. "I'll still walk you down the aisle, Jimmy. Even if that pointy-eared bastard is the one waiting at the alter."

Jim lets out a frustrated cry as she snatches up an apple and hurls it at the Doctor's head. "Fuck off, Bones! That's not funny!"

Doctor McCoy manages to duck in time and he glares at Jim. "You're a damn child!"

"Yeah, and you're a condescending prick!"

Doctor McCoy turns away without a response and snaps his fingers at his horse. "Come on, Saturn. Let's leave Jim alone with her temper tantrum."

"Yeah whatever, Bones! You're the one that's being a dick!" Jim shouts after him as the Doctor rides off. "No one gets to decide anything about my future but me!"

Doctor McCoy keeps riding until he's out of sight.

Jim stomps her foot into the ground and makes another noise of frustration. She kicks at the grass and spits before she calms down. When she does, she throws a brief glance at Spock, and then she looks away. She chews on her bottom lip thoughtfully and sniffs as tears well up at the corner of her eyes. She quickly wipes away a tear that falls.

Spock finds himself drawing closer to Jim until they are only three paces apart. Back on his home world, this distance would have been considered inappropriate for two individuals who were not relatives or had not fully completed their bond. For now, he is willing to supersede any socially unacceptable behavior in order to keep Jim's mood leveled.

"I guess this memory wasn't as happy as I thought," Jim sniffs, swiping the tips of her fingers over her wet cheeks in an attempt to dry them. "I hate that I'm crying. I'm crying because I'm sad and confused. I am emotional and I don't like that," she starts as she sniffs again and holds onto her elbows. "I used to doubt my ability to lead, but I don't think it was ever about whether or not I made a fine captain—it's the fact that I feel lesser than anyone else because I'm a female with a shady past. I'm not calling women weak because we can divide and conquer and build just as extravagantly as men can. I have no doubts about that. But its something more about being a woman that just makes me feel like oil that's trying to find its footing on newly waxed linoleum."

"Your difference is powerful, Jim," Spock assures, holding her wet gaze. It is his decision to speak to her from a place of truth he has come to know all too well.

"Well it kind of has to be," Jim concurs as she gently rubs the back of her hand against her reddened nose. "I would say I'm pretty well at ease with my sexuality, but it's never easy to just be an individual before I'm a female."

"Individuality is founded in feeling. The recesses of feeling, the darker, blinder strata of character, are the only places in which one can discover tangible fact in the making, and directly perceive how events happen, and how work is actually done," Spock says and notes with slight fascination as Jim's blue eyes sharpen with clever comprehension. "The capacity of the female mind for studies of the highest order cannot be doubted, having been sufficiently illustrated by its works of genius, of erudition, and of science."

Jim flushes and a quick and sharp laugh explodes from her trembling mouth. "That's very astute—and flattering," she says with a small smile. "Thank you."

"It was merely my intention to state a truth."

"Well it was very well stated," Jim assures as her smile lengthens out before it fades away completely. Her blue eyes lift to the sky as she frowns. The wind picks up and it loops around them. "So," she starts as her blue eyes glints mischievously while her expression remains neutral. "You know what a joy ride is?"

Spock brow furrows in question.

"When I was thirteen, my Uncle Frank decided it would be a good idea to sell my dad's cherry red corvette. And me, well I had a difference of opinion you could say."

Spock waits for her to continue.

Jim just smirks and fades away.

Spock reluctantly follows.

888

Inside of Jim's mind, Spock finds that he looses grasp of time. She leads him through the different layers of her mind like a stack of cards, continuously set to a shuffle. There are good memories and there are bad memories, and even moments that are darker than most, but Spock maintains his presence to encourage Jim's strength and courage when she wavers. He is exposed to many truths that ultimately cause him to reevaluate his initial assessment of her, and where there was once reluctance, now is overlapped by indisputable respect.

Midway through Jim's memory of her experience of Vulcan's decay—as he stands on the bridge with her as they both watch with solemn silence as a maelstrom of blue fire devours the heart of Vulcan before the whole planet itself—Jim sniffs with a frown, turns to him and says, "Chanting—someone's chanting. I don't remember there ever being—do you hear that?"

Spock does hear it, but before he can make a comment, he is forcibly withdrawn from Jim's mind and pushed back into his own. He opens his eyes to the sight of his living quarters and notices that his PADD is illuminated with an overabundance of notifications. According to the majority of the messages, they have arrived safe and sound into the realm of Simperion. The mass of the ship's crew has evacuated to the surface of High Master.

His communicator chirps, "_McCoy to Spock! Pick up, damn you!"_

"Spock here," he replies.

"_Finally! I've been trying to get through to for the last fifteen minutes! We're here—we made it. Jim's in route to—well wherever the hell she needs to be in order for them to make her right again. I suggest you get a move on too. Jasel should be waiting for you in the Transporter Room. I'm stickin' with Jim."_

"Very well. I will join you and the Captain as soon as I am able," Spock assures.

Doctor McCoy murmurs something before the line dies.

Spock stands without further delay, and vaguely notices the faint aches that begin to pulse in his shoulders, knees, and lower back. He does not think on it as he exits his living quarters and travels to the Transporter Room where, just as the Doctor specified, Jasel is waiting.

"I assumed it would be best if I led you to the city's remedial annex," Jasel explains with an anxious fidget.

Spock inclines his head as he steps onto one of the pads.

Jasel nods to a young crewmember working the transporter console.

In a thread of light they rematerialize on the surface of the planet on gleaming pavement that looks a lot similar to carved blocks of sugar cubes. They are surrounded by buliding structures made of glass and steel, neatly organized in rows with luminescent streams of blue electricity flowing in the streets and guiding egg-shaped pods in a whizz of light.

It is unlike anything Spock has witnessed in his life. The level of technology that the planet has is clearly beyond anything known to any other worlds outside their realm. It does not escape Spock's notice that the city itself is structured like a motherboard cpu.

Jasel softly says, "Welcome to the High Master."

Spock's brow raises and he says, "Fascinating."

Jasel smirks proudly. "This way," he instructs as he enters a large building shaped like a dome and constructed with shining steel plates. He guides him through glass corridors alight with medical charts and tables. In many of the areas, many of the ship's crew can be recognized being on the receiving end of treatment and care. On the far end of the facility waits a large room filled with many Healers whose eyes are aglow with different colors of gold, silver, and purple. The Healers also adorn robes that match these eye colors.

In the middle of the room, Jim is levitating over an empty rectangle tank as a strobe of vertical light slides across the length of her body. It goes back and forth without ever ceasing, and every area it touches the light exposes a different sequence of her anatomy. As it stops at her head and slides across the length of her body, the light reveals her muscle structure, and when it moves back up, her nerve endings and her internal organs. When it swipes across again, it exposes her bones before it starts all over again.

Spock joins a glowering Doctor McCoy.

An older woman with copper skin, white hair and glowing purple eyes approaches them with a friendly smile. "You must be the Commander Spock. Mr. McCoy has made a mention of you, and your relationship in concerns of the Captain. I am the Matriarch of the infirmary. My name is Doctor Guayule of the House of Jewel. And before I say anything else, I want to assure you that Captain Kirk will be fine."

"You can snap her out of it?" Doctor McCoy questions.

"That's not the term I would use, but yes," Doctor Guayule replies genially. "But I can't take all the credit." She pulls a sliver double bar and stretches it out as a virtual screen of a medical chart appears. "Your Commander did most of the work. The labor we have to do will be fairly easy and quick. She'll be up and about in ten hours." She winks at Spock and hands the chart to Doctor McCoy, who eagerly scans it.

"Well I'll be," Doctor McCoy says with quiet satisfaction. His eyes glide effortlessly over the chart. "She's leveling off—I mean, she was before, but now—" He looks at Spock. "She's coming back to us."

Spock brow furrows but his expression otherwise remains neutral as he flicks his dark gaze to Jim, who is still levitating. "Doctor—how many days did our travel take?"

"Three days exactly," Doctor McCoy remarks in a distracted fashion. He pauses with a frown. "Did you, uh—not know that?"

"I was otherwise preoccupied," Spock retorts evenly. "Time becomes an irrelevant truth in the human mind and its experience with regards to its memory systems."

"I can only imagine how true that is with Jim," Doctor McCoy agrees wryly. "I can only imagine the things you must have seen. Hell knows she won't tell me things half the time unless I corner her into it. But you—you just get to stroll through all her memories. I bet she held your hand the whole way too."

Spock stiffens, and straightens the line of his shoulders. "Excuse me, Doctor—but I am unable to determine whether or not you speak from a place of compassion for Captain Kirk or envy on my behalf."

Doctor McCoy glares coldly at Spock. "I don't see how that would be any of your business what place my inquisitiveness comes from. And if you really want to go thereI may as well ask if you're asking me from a platonic standpoint, or is that jealousy I hear?"

"Jealousy is illogical," Spock says coolly. "However, I have come to understand that your relationship with Captain Kirk is anything but one dimensional." He waits a second longer before he adds, "Jim is my friend. I hold no desire for any other station in her life."

Doctor McCoy scowls and crosses his arms. He says, "Jim is my _best friend_. And I would appreciate it if you didn't try to imply anything other than that—and I'll be polite enough to do the same."

"Very well," Spock merely replies. "I feel it would be beneficial, for Jim, if we remain civil, Doctor."

"Oh I've been civil," Doctor McCoy grumbles. "If I wasn't anything but, I would've clocked you one for that little stunt you pulled on the bridge a few months ago by now. Christ, I still have nightmares about that."

Spock fingers tighten before he forcibly relaxes them. "That—was a regrettable incident I do not intend on replicating."

Doctor McCoy snorts, but he says nothing otherwise.

"Alright, we'll be lowering her in our placental healing salve," Doctor Guayule says with a reassuring smile as she moves to the other side of Jim. "The gel holds special properties which will increase the Captain's healing capabilities and mend everything that should require it. Rest assured, her physical appearance will not be altered, only the internal." She looks to Spock. "Do I have your permission to proceed?"

Spock inclines his head.

Doctor Guayule nods back as her glowing purple eyes tack onto Jim, and slowly, she begins to descend into the slender glass tank of translucent salve. The gel encases her body as she sinks into the base of the tank. "Ah, there we are. She's all set. And if you want, we can lead you to the waiting rooms or if you're hungry or tired we'll be happy to accommodate you by those means as well," she says. "We will alert you as soon as she has finished the procedure."

Doctor McCoy nods reluctantly, and allows himself to be led away by one of the healers.

Jasel joins Spock as they both watch Jim through the side of the glass tank. "Commander, if it suits you—my father would like to have a word. My parents, as well as the high council, want to throw a special ceremony on Jim's behalf to honor her bravery."

Spock relaxes his shoulders as waves of exhaustion shock its way into his system. "I will require a interim of rest to gather my bearings, after which, I will have sustained the proper means to heed attention to your parent's requests."

"Yes, of course," Jasel says with an understanding nod. "There is a private replenishing partition not far from here. I will show you where it is."

Spock flicks his gaze to Jim one final time before he follows Jasel out the room and around the corner.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes: <strong>_What's your favorite moment from the series by far?_


	14. Chapter 15

**Chapter 5**

Jim frowns and shifts as a shock of cold energy floods her system and her senses. Her blue eyes open to the skewered view of a white ceiling, and when she opens her mouth, disgusting partially solidified liquid floods into her mouth. She flings herself up into a sitting position as she coughs and gags. She looks down at herself in confusion to see she's encased in some kind of goop that seems to be the same texture of raw eggs. It's pretty gross and confusing. She stands and notices she's still in her captain's uniform, but she's soaked from head to toe in translucent slime.

"This is like the first five minutes of a horror film," Jim mutters as she flings off the slime from her hands with a disgusted face. She stands and tries to blink the goop from her eyes as she notices she's in an all white room with machinery she's never even seen before.

"Captain Kirk, I am pleased to see you up and about," a voice says from the entrance of the room.

When Jim looks over, she spots a copper-skinned woman with white hair and glowing purple eyes. Needless to say, it freaks Jim out and sends her stumbling out of the tank as she attempts to apply more distance between them. Mitchell was the last person she'd seen with glowing eyes, and well, that confrontation hadn't worked out in her favor had it?

"Oh, no, don't be frightened. I am Doctor Guayule of the House of Jewel. I'm the leading healer for this infirmary. You are in good company, Captain Kirk. Your ship and its crew are being well looked after," Doctor Guayule assures with a placating voice.

Jim relaxes partially and nods unsurely.

"What do you remember?"

"Dying. Or doing something like dying," Jim replies as she wipes some slime from her cheek. Then she lowers her eyes to the empty tank with a thoughtful frown. "Then—Spock. He was—" Her eyebrows furrow as she recalls constant stream of Spock's presence in her mind through the cacophony of her memories. She looks up at Doctor Guayule, who is smiling softly.

"He saved your life, Captain," Doctor Guayule explains. "We barely had to do much."

"Oh, um—" Jim shifts her weight wordlessly as she wraps her arms around herself. "Yeah. He did. I remember that."

"Good, good," Doctor Guayule merely says. "Now, I have a group of very eager seamstresses waiting outside the room for you." She exits and lets in said group of five beautiful young women with matching faces, big red hair, silver eyes and flowing lilac colored ball gowns.

Before Jim can say much, they're all kneeling before her.

"Lady Kirk, it is an honor to serve you. I am Citizen Veona of the House of Dawn. I am the head seamstress for the Royal Court, and these are my sisters. I am the elder daughter," Veona introduces as she stands to her feet while her sisters follow suit. "Her Majesty Queen Sealsa, has instructed us to do a fitting for you. It would be our great pleasure to ensure you look your best for the festival honoring you on this blessed day."

Jim blinks rapidly in order to process the information. "Wait—festival? Am I—are we on—"

"High Master, yes," says the redhead to her right. "Pardon my interjection. I am Citizen Veoya, youngest daughter. You and your people arrived a little over ten hours ago. It has been said that you traveled a many three days through the guidance of Prince Jasel."

"Citizen Veola, second eldest daughter," Veola says with a quick courtesy. "I have also heard that the King and Queen were immensely pleased with being reunited with their children, and eternally grateful to you and honored by the brave lengths in which you ensured such a reunion."

"Oh—okay—I think I need to sit down for a moment," Jim says as she gropes her way to the nearest chair.

The red sisters seem alarmed.

"We've gone and upset you," says the redhead in the middle. "I am Citizen Veoga, third eldest daughter. I would like to apologize on behalf of myself and my sisters if we have brought you any distress."

"No, it's not that—I just—I'm very happy," Jim says as a bubble of laughter floats past of her lips. "A little delirious with it actually. I'm so glad that Jasel and Riesa and Leona are back home safe and sound. It's all I ever wanted for them."

The Red Sisters blush in surprise.

"Lady Kirk addresses the royal family so formally," Veola says with unconcealed awe.

"Oh, um, did I misstep my boundaries?" Jim says with a small wince and a scrunched nose.

"I am Citizen Veora, fourth eldest daughter—and no, not at all," Veora assures. "It just means that they consider you kin to allow you to address them as such. That equates you to royalty now."

Jim nods as she chews on her bottom lip and winces when she remembers she's covered in goop. "So, you'll be dressing me you said? For a festival in my honor?"

The Red Sisters all perk up with eager nods and wide smiles.

"We will meet all your desired specifications for vinaigrettes," Veona promises.

"Okay. When does this festival start?" Jim asks as she stands and lifts her arms obediently when Veora moves to remove her uniform.

"It's happening right now," Veola says. "But it wont officially start until you arrive."

"When we're done here, we are to take you to the Royal Family, and they will introduce you to the entire realm," says Veoga.

"Entire realm?"

"Yes. Everyone in High Master are waiting out on the Blessed Grounds," says Veora. "And since our planet's population numbers in the millions, the royal guard had to cap the entrance since we're already at capacity."

"Which means everyone in the League of Realms will have to watch via transmission," adds Veona.

Jim feels sharp twinges of something like stage fright prod its way into her heart and she goes a bit green. It's only willpower that allows her to stammer out what kind of outfit she wants to the Red Sisters without hurling out her guts. She can't shake her nervousness when she's being cleaned and dressed for the better part of three hours. The red sisters do her hair and makeup as well after they craft her clothes out of virtually thin air. It's impressive, Jim has to admit, but considering how advanced their race is, it's no surprise really.

"So, what do you think?" Veora ask as she summons a full-length mirror and sets it before Jim.

Jim looks ate her reflection with impressed grin. Her hair is in a messy side ponytail, and her makeup looks very natural and elegant. She's wearing a maple sugar colored short sleeve turtleneck tucked into a black and nude laced pencil skirt. Her fingernails are painted a magenta that matches the colors of her toes, which are strapped in black sandaled open toe heels. On her neck she has rainbow colored beads the size of enlarged grapes. She touches them and they begin to glow.

"They are honor beads. They identify you as a special friend of the Royal Family," Veoga explains.

"They're beautiful," Jim says breathlessly as she continues to touch them just to watch them glow.

"You're beautiful, Lady Kirk," Veona gently corrects with a fond smile as her younger sisters murmur in agreement. "They reflect the very essence of you. The glow you see is you."

"Really?" Jim asks in amazement and the Red Sisters nod. "You don't think I'm undressed or anything? I don't know the fashion of your world here so—"

"No fashion," Veola assures. "We dress in a way that suits our personality. So no worries. You look as you are meant to."

Jim smiles gratefully at them and the Red Sisters take that as permission to surround her in a group hug that only lasts a few silent moments before they bulldoze her out of the room and out of the infirmary. When they get out into the street, the city is very quiet and vacant. Jim amusedly notices how the city is designed much like a motherboard cpu with its gleaming pavement and glass and steel structures with streets of blue electricity. She's not given much time to really observe her surrounds before they gently push her into a wide egg-shaped transport car that's hovering over the stream of blue electricity. The inside of this transport egg is like a limo—what with it's cushioned leather seats and mini-bar.

The Red Sisters do not refuse her when she makes a suggestion that they do a couple of shots. Jim mainly needs it to calm down her nerves, and three shots later of what has to be the sweetest vodka she's ever tasted, she's loose and a bit calmer than before. The ride itself takes another three hours—the Blessed Grounds are located in the widest empty plot of land on High Master—but Jim knows when they arrive because she can hear a cacophony of joyful singing and cheering that practically shakes the windows of their egg-shaped transport. When she looks out the side window she sees millions upon millions of people standing before a blocky structure at the top of what looks to be a hundred stairs made of clay and inscribed with strange symbols. It looks a lot like a Mayan temple.

The egg pod comes to a slow stop at the base of the steps of the temple. The door pops open and the Red Sisters climb out first before they help Jim out. With parting hugs and smiles, they disappear into the mass of cheering people, who, much like them, have glowing eyes.

Jim turns and is greeted by the sight of, who must be King Renin and Queen Sealsa, and they don't look a day over forty. King Renin is wearing sharp black suit with a satin tie and a gold crown with red jewels on his head. Queen Sealsa is wearing a strapless banana yellow dress with a floor length ruffle train. She has glossy brown curls falling around her shoulders as a crown made of yellow diamonds rests on her head. Jasel, Leona and Riesa are right beside them, and are dressed the exact same, like little miniature versions. She can see where their looks come from, aside from the clothes, the children are nearly identical in their facial features with their parents.

Leona and Riesa wave excitedly at her while Jasel straightens his posture into something more dignified.

Jim walks towards them with a nervous swallow and gives a jerky bow.

"That is not necessary, James," Queen Sealsa says with a soft voice.

"This is a day to honor you," King Renin says with a gentle smile.

Queen Sealsa, Leona and Riesa give Jim a courtesy as King Renin and Jasel press their right hand to their stomachs with a slight bow.

"If you'll follow us up to the Sacred Temple, we can introduce you to our people," King Renin says as his wife takes the arm he offers. They begin to ascend up the steps carefully.

"See you at the top, Jim," Jasel says with a little smirk and offers his sisters both of his arms.

Leona and Riesa take them and throw Jim a thrilled smile as the three of them begin to ascend.

Before Jim can lift her foot, she's jerked into a hug. When she pulls back she sees that it's Bones who's looking at her with red-rimmed eyes.

"You promised to keep the dying to a minimum," Bones grouches. He's wearing a very suave navy blue suit with a white tie and white dress shoes.

"I didn't actually die this time, you know," Jim points out as she studies him. "Wow. You're looking good."

"Yeah, well, you should've seen me three days ago. I looked better," Bones gripes with a pointed glare.

Jim rolls her eyes and notices the rest of her crew from over his shoulder. "It's good to see you're still a sourpuss," she teases as she pats his chest and walks around him.

Bones sighs long-sufferingly. "You're to blame for all my ulcers," he says.

Jim throws him a grin and a wink over her shoulder before she turns back to Chekov and gives him a hug. He's wearing a red and black suit with no tie. His hair looks as curly as ever.

"I am happy to see you awake, Keptin," Chekov says with a gentle smile when he pulls back. "I was very worried, but I knew you would be back."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Jim chuckles and pinches his cheek. She turns to Uhura who's wearing a one-shouldered devil-red cocktail dress with gold earrings, black heels, matching red lipstick and a messy bun of curls.

"You have a knack for trouble, you know that?" Uhura says while a gorgeous smile begins to blossom across her face. She hugs Jim and quietly says, "I'm glad you're okay."

"Same here," Jim whispers back as they pull away from each other with grins. She turns to Scotty and has to press her lips together because her Chief Engineer is sporting a kilt with a sunny smile.

"Never a dull moment with you, is there?" Scotty says.

"I was just thinking the same thing about you," Jim says as she eyes his blue and yellow plaid kilt, which happens to match his knee-high socks.

"Don't know what you mean by that but I'm happy you're okay," Scotty replies with a bemused grin.

Jim nods and pats his shoulder before she turns to Spock.

Spock stands with his hands clasped behind him wearing charcoal grey trousers and black tunic under a charcoal grey jacket that is draped over the left half of his body.

Jim takes a moment to admire how well his attire suits him. She is unused to seeing him outside of his usual science uniform. She steps before him and smiles unsurely.

"You know, I think we'll just start that climb now," Scotty quips and offers his arm to Uhura, who accepts graciously.

Chekov beams at the two of them before he follows after Scotty and Uhura, leaving Jim and Spock alone.

"Spock—"

"Jim—"

"You go first," Jim says as she shifts her weight and finger-combs her long blonde bangs from her face.

"I am—pleased to see you have fully recovered," Spock says in his usual monotone voice.

Jim smiles and says, "I'm told I have you to thank for that. Though I didn't really need them to tell me. I remember just fine."

Spock says nothing but his dark gaze is steady.

"I do want to thank you, for being there with me when you didn't have to," Jim goes on to say. She exhales shakily as she lowers her eyes. "Honestly, if had to have been anyone to—_see_ all that—I'm glad it was you." She looks up at him. "I know before I was upset with you for perusing through my mind without my permission. And I just want you to know that I'm not upset now. I was in a vulnerable position and—I just—"

"No words are necessary, nor is your gratitude, Jim," Spock gently interjects. "You are my friend."

Jim inhales sharply in surprise. She presses against the tremble that tries to overtake her bottom lip as her eyes water. She stares at him and feels something warm and happy unfurl in her chest. She laughs a little as she flushes with a nod and says, "You're my friend too."

Spock straightens a bit more and his dark gaze twists with something that's as close to a smile that Jim's ever seen, and it makes her own smile grow wider.

"I'm going to throw up," Jim admits suddenly as her smile flattens out. "There are like a lot of people here and even more watching this whole event and they're all going to know my name pretty soon and I might throw up."

"You are experiencing anxiety," Spock notes with a furrow of his brow. "They will not seek to harm you. You have faced worst."

Jim turns towards the steps with a wry snort. "That's not exactly what's bothering me," she says as she begins to ascend. She wobbles a bit and flushes when a warm palm presses to her lower back to steady her. "Thanks," she mumbles and avidly hopes that no one saw her almost fall and break her neck.

"You must be careful," Spock states and doesn't remove his hand, much to Jim's surprise.

"You wear six inch heels and try to climb a hill of steps," Jim retorts with a weak glare. They continue on and Spock keeps her steady through all the times she stumbles and wobbles, which in turn makes her flush in embarrassment and glare at him as though it was his fault. He of course does nothing besides lift an eyebrow in patient questioning until Jim is forced to roll her eyes with a sigh and continue on. They make it to the top eventually, where the Royal Family and her crew are waiting beside a long banquet table full of food, and there is a bedazzled old woman, who Jim later learns is the grandmother.

King Renin and Queen Sealsa stand at the top of the stairs and they wave Jim to join them with smiles.

Spock removes his hand and clasps it behind him.

Jim exhales to rid her body of her nerves as she goes to join the King and Queen. They place her in between them.

King Renin lifts his hands to the mass of people stretched out around the base of the temple stairs and far out to the horizon. "Citizens of Simperion," he says, voice booming and spreading a shockwave of sound. "We have all the reason to celebrate on this day. The Everlasting has seen fit to answer our prayers and return my children to us. And the woman responsible stands before you now."

"Captain James Tiberius Kirk is a woman that embodies valor, bravery and justice," Queen Sealsa goes on to say. "For those reasons alone, on this day, on behalf of the Royal House of Upson, whom presides over the League of Realms—we offer our allegiance to the House of Kirk and the family line it produces. Your children and their children will be kin to our children and their children and on it shall go until the end of time."

"If you should ask, James," King Renin says. "We will take up arms and fight alongside you. Kin to my kin—blood to my blood—our houses shall be forever paralleled."

"There can be a true grandeur in any degree of submissiveness, because it springs from loyalty to the laws and to an oath, and not from baseness of soul," Queen Sealsa says. "The Sacred Woman of our house will come now and solidify the oath we have made today."

An older woman in brilliant robes of peach steps forward, and Jim recognizes her as the children's grandmother. She's holding a golden goblet. "Kneel child," she says with a kind smile.

Jim kneels before her and laces her fingers together expectantly.

Grandma Upson closes her eyes and speaks in whispers over the goblet before she hands it to Jim. "Blessed are the hearts that can bend—they shall never be broken," she says aloud. "Look upon this woman kindly. She gets up while it is still dark. She provides protection for her people and bargains her own soul for the souls of many." She smiles as Jim takes the goblet. She motions for Jim to drink.

Jim lifts the rim to her lips and the liquid inside pours across her tongue and down her throat like oil. Her hands shake as her heart warms with sudden joy.

"She is strong because she considers her choices and accepts them without a fuss," Grandma Upson says. "She sets about her work vigorously and never complains. Her arms are strong for her tasks. Out of her comes a song unheard. She is a righteous woman. She is a blessed woman. She is a woman that accepts the war she went through and is ennobled by her scars." Her golden eyes stare deep into Jim with a smile that reaches into the very essence of her. She takes the goblet back from Jim and says, "We love this woman."

"We love this woman," Queen Sealsa repeats and motions for Jim to stand, and when she does Queen Sealsa hugs her.

"We love this woman," King Renin echoes and shakes Jim's hand when she parts from his wife.

"_We love this woman!_" the masses shout with joy as drums and music and singing and claps breaks out all around them. Confetti rains from the sky and falls on the heads of the dancing people as fireworks explode overhead in the darkening sky. Large of dishes of food begin to be passed around them in the midst of the cheering and dancing.

"We love this woman," Uhura says and opens her arms to Jim.

Jim hugs her with a smile as tears well up in her eyes. She doesn't know why she's crying, she just feels happy and full of joy.

Uhura rubs her back comfortingly before they pull apart.

"We love this woman!" Scotty pipes and pulls Jim into a hug.

Jim laughs and hugs him back.

"We love this woman," Chekov chirps and steals Jim from Scotty to hug. He sticks his tongue out at Scotty as he snuggles up to her.

"Little bugger," Scotty mutters before he goes to take a seat at the banquet table.

Chekov releases Jim with a smile before he dashes after Scotty and begins to fuss at the Chief Engineer as if they were two brothers.

"We love this woman!" Leona and Riesa chime in unison as they wrap their small arms around her waist.

Jim crouches and takes her time giving them both individual hugs.

"We love this woman," a quiet voice says from behind them.

Jim turns to see a flushed Jasel who stubbornly meets her eyes. She smiles softly and stands before she puts her hands on either side of his face and slaps a nice wet kiss on his forehead.

The flush on Jasel's face intensifies and he looks almost in danger of passing out. He quickly scuttles away and joins his grandmother at the banquet table.

Leona and Riesa giggle and whisper each other as they move to join their parents at the banquet table.

"Guess we love this woman too," Bones grumbles as he pulls her into a half hug.

Kenya, who Jim hadn't noticed before, joins their little group hug. "We most certainly do love this woman," she assures with a wink before she pinches Bones's arm warningly.

"Easy, darlin'. Jimmy knows I'm jokin'," Bones says as he pulls back from Jim and wraps an arm around Kenya and kisses her temple.

Jim smiles faintly as she watches the two of them sit at the banquet table together. She takes a moment to just watch them all pass dishes of delicious food up and down the table. She looks to the side where the door of the Sacred Temple rests, and as covertly as she can manage, she slips inside and takes a moment to study the walls. They have interesting symbols engraved in them. She steps forward and traces her fingers over them.

"It is a prayer wall."

Jim flicks her gaze over to Spock who is crowding the open doorway of the temple.

"I am told it was built back in the dawn of civilization as a tribute to their God," Spock continues to explain as he steps forward. "Many citizens still come and pray here. They believe that there are still blessings within its structure."

"Huh," Jim merely says as she looks back at the wall. She only pauses for a second when she feels him stop right behind her, close enough that she can feel his heat, before she forces herself to relax. She lifts her hand again and presses it to the wall and closes her eyes. A moment of silence passes.

"Jim?"

"Hm?"

"What are you doing?"

"Praying for bigger boobs." Jim lets a slow grin spread across her face before she opens her eyes and turns to Spock who is studying her with amused eyes.

"Your body requires no modification," Spock merely states neutrally.

"I know that, but I'm not asking for anything _huge_," Jim explains making a gesture to her chest, and doesn't miss the way Spock refuses to even glance down. "I'm talking like a cup, two cups bigger, you know? Nothing drastic but something I can really show off."

"Jim, you have been incapacitated for an irregular amount of time. It would be within your best interest to partake of the banquet," Spock says instead, intentionally changing the subject. "I have estimated six dishes which are safe for you to consume—"

"Oh God, don't start with that," Jim complains with a woeful frown. "Spock, come _on_. Its _my _special day. I should be able to stuff my face with anything I want."

"The risk is too great," Spock insists, unmoved by her childish pouting. "I have saved you a seat. When you are ready, it will be waiting for you." Without anything further, he exits the temple and disappears around the corner in the direction of the banquet table.

Jim huffs and crosses her arm, not caring that it makes her seem like a big brat. She turns back to the prayer wall. She looks at it considerately before closes her eyes and presses her left hand to it. She exhales, and feeling a bit silly for it, she begins to pray for real this time. It's nothing big. She's just asking for an endless flow of strength and courage that will enable her to make the right decisions in the coming years as captain. She knows that her troubles are far from over. There are two wars coming.

One with the Romulans and the Klingons.

And one with Khan.

Jim hopes she has what it takes to face both.

(**_picture of scene above can be found in my livejournal in the same chapter at the end_**)

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> _Oh gosh. This is it. This is the end. Wow. What a ride, huh? Well never fear my loves. I have a confirmed four sequels coming up. So this may be the end but it's not the actual end. And for those of you disappointed by the lack of hookup between Kirk and Spock, I did say that this was going to be a slow build. So who knows? It might happen in the third part of the series or it might not. We'll see. I'll be happy to see you stick around since we've come this far. And as always, thanks for reading!_


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